


thrashing on the line; desperate & divine

by sulfuric



Series: totl verse [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: (so much fucking angst), Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Mental Illness, PTSD, Recovery, i promise ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric/pseuds/sulfuric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt’s supposed to be gone, but he isn’t. Thomas still sees him everywhere, hears him everywhere - feels him everywhere - ever since the car accident that left Thomas with a hole in his chest and a dead boyfriend. Except he isn’t really, truly dead, or else Thomas wouldn’t be able to talk to him (among... <i>other</i> things).</p><p>Minho only wants to help. And if that means getting his only remaining best friend sent away for god knows how long, so be it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. baby, just say yes

**Author's Note:**

> so! this is my first newmas fic, and first multi-chaptered fic. if all goes well, i will be updating every week on saturday nights. if that changes, i will most likely make an announcement on my tumblr [here](http://00250.tumblr.com/tagged/totl). other updates and stuff about this will be on there too, so you can check that out if it interests you~
> 
> that being said, this fic is very heavy on angst and has some pretty dark and potentially triggering stuff within it. the tags for the fic cover most of it, but i will put potential triggers warnings in the notes at the beginning of each chapter just to be sure.
> 
> so yea? i hope you guys enjoy, feedback is always always welcome, i would love to hear what you guys have to say, whether it be compliment or criticism, or a neutral thought (gives me pause!) if anyone picked up on that reference, i probably love you btw
> 
> feel free to contact me anytime through my tumblr, [00250](http://00250.tumblr.com)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**" _The course of true love never did run smooth._ "**

**— William Shakespeare**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was late. It was really, really late. It was a Friday night - well, Saturday morning, technically - but it was still late. Thomas wasn’t _not_ enjoying the party he was at. Actually, he’d had a really good time. Newt and Minho were there, first of all, and the other people present were actually quite enjoyable as well. There hadn’t been any fights or drama, just some drinks and some laughs. He had had a good time. Was having a good time. It was just that he wanted to have a good time - or, you know, a tolerable time - at his 8:00 morning shift in six hours.

 

"Well, we should be getting home," Thomas said to the room, slinging a lazy arm around Newt's shoulders. "Work in the morning. You too, actually." he said, turning towards Newt. 

"Oh." Newt said loudly, alcohol heavy on his breath and currently, right in Thomas's face. "Bloody hell."

The room buzzed with laughter and Thomas smiled. He hadn't had any drinks but warmth filled him and drunk happiness surged in his veins. It was a good night. He turned his head to plant a kiss on Newt's cheek, feeling the other boy's face spreading into a lazy smile under his lips.

A familiar voice grabbed Thomas's attention. "Awh, look at the happy couple, disgusting as always." Minho. Thomas smiled and rolled his eyes, planting a kiss right on Newt’s lips for good measure. Newt chuckled out of the kiss, sticking his tongue out at Minho.

Minho put on a look of disgust and shook his head. Thomas laughed, knowing Minho meant no harm by his expression. He had been the one to introduce Thomas and Newt back in middle school, and the one to ensure that the three of them had become an inseparable group. He’d also been the first one to find out once Thomas and Newt finally got _together_ together, and wasted no time in telling them that he’d seen it coming for years. Obviously.

“We should go, though.” Thomas said finally, glancing down at his phone to check the time. 1:54am. Shit.

"You driving?" Minho asked. Thomas nodded. "Be careful. Don't die." he said dryly.

"Wow," Newt piped up, "now that, that was bloody inspiring."

"Yeah, we should really leave." Thomas said, feeling Newt lean his weight onto him even more. "Alright klunkhead, let's get going." he said, patting Newt's chest and guiding him carefully towards the front of the house. As they made their way down the corridor they were met with byes and laters.

They stepped out onto the porch and were met with a rush of warm air clouded with smoke. Newt inhaled deeply and coughed, waving his hand through the air. The porch and front yard were both littered with smokers. Thomas was glad that that was not a habit he or Newt had picked up.

They walked down a long, paved pathway and Newt spoke up. “Do I actually have work tomorrow morning or was that just so you could get me alone?” He smiled in a way that Thomas could only describe as astoundingly suggestive.

“Dude,” Thomas laughed, slipping his hand into Newt’s. “how do you not know your own work schedule?”

Newt made a sound of indifference and began to swing his and Thomas’s arms in the cool nighttime air. They stepped off the paved path and onto a gravel road, looking down a row of cars. After a few minutes of walking, Thomas pulled out his keys and unlocked his car. “Shotgun!” Newt yelled, ripping his hand from Thomas’s and half running, half limping his way around to the other side of the car.

Thomas laughed and opened the door, sliding into the car. Newt was already sitting in the passenger’s seat, fiddling with his seatbelt. Thomas turned the key in the ignition and the car grumbled in protest. “Come on.” Thomas mumbled, turning the key harder, smirking to himself when the car finally gave up and started. He glanced at Newt, eyes closed with a relaxed smile on his face. The peaceful look on the blond’s face made Thomas’s chest warm as he pulled the car onto the beat-up road, rolling out into the pitch black ahead of them.

 

A few minutes later, Newt began to hum, tapping his fingers on his bad ankle. “Why’s it so far?” Newt asked, bringing his spindly legs tighter to his chest. “Winston’s a little weird, too. Maybe ‘cause he lives so far.” he added. 

Thomas snorted in agreement. Winston did live far. On a farm. A bit inconvenient, but worth the hassle if he had the entire place to himself for a weekend. He was known for throwing great parties, even if he was, like Newt said, a little weird. “Yeah. He is.” Thomas said, biting back a laugh.

Newt huffed, wiggling to cross his legs under him. “I want to sing.” his accent became thicker as he mumbled to himself, reaching over to turn on the radio. Thomas chuckled. Newt was, in a word, adorable. Incredible. Extraordinary. And, he was Thomas’s. Thomas didn’t know how he got so lucky that he managed to have his best friend fall in love with him, but it happened.

Sure, Thomas had seen Newt sing in the car, drunk, many times before. Maybe too many times. Each time Thomas had probably stared at him with the same look he was staring at him with now (the ‘fuck me emotionally, please’ look was what Minho had so lovingly called it). But now it was different. Because Thomas knew that Newt felt the exact same way about him, intoxicated as he was or not. And knowing that was pretty fucking amazing.

“Sing with me!” Newt demanded, pulling Thomas from his thoughts with words much too loud. “Tommy!”

“Okay, okay.” Thomas said, smiling at Newt’s fake pout. “Fine.” he said, looking back to the stretch of black road. He took a breath and began to sing along with Newt.

“You’ll be the prince, and I’ll be the prince-” Newt burst into giggles and Thomas picked up from where Newt left off.

“It’s a love story, baby just say-”

“Yes!” Newt yelled, another fit of giggles coming over him. “I say yes. How ‘bout it, Tommy? I’ll be your prince and you’ll be mine?”

Thomas tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, smiling even wider, if that was actually possible. “You’re already my prince, you dumb shank.” Thomas felt dumb saying it and he knew that if Minho was there he would never let him live it down. Ever. But Minho wasn’t there and Newt was his prince, and that was that.

Newt hummed. “I love you, Tommy.” he said, eyes closed.

Thomas took one hand off the wheel and threaded his fingers through Newt’s. Pure light filled him up. “I love you, too.”

Then there was a loud crunch, and everything went black.

 

-

 

There was something beeping loudly, and it was completely dark. There was absolutely nothing but the darkness and the beeping, the noise slowly growing more distant as time went on. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours - he didn’t have any concept of time as he listened to the sound. The slow rhythm of the _beep beep beep_ was almost lulling him back to sleep. The heavy blackness in front of his eyes was so inviting and he was so _tired_. He tried to move but it was like there was a pile of concrete on top of him, holding him in place. The beeps were growing farther in time and farther away, leaving him slowly. The darkness was getting deeper, thicker; sleep was beckoning it’s finger and Thomas was about to follow.

Then he remembered the truck.

His eyes shot open and he sat straight up, every muscle and bone in his body screaming in protest. The beeping returned to him, faster and pounding inside his skull. He collapsed in pain, gasping for air. He lay on his back, shaking, and after a moment he dared to move his eyes. White popcorn ceiling. Beige walls. A white board with messy, indecipherable scrawl. Machines - countless machines. Grey railings on either side of him. _Hospital_ , Thomas thought.

Hospital. The events of the night before - was it the night before? Thomas had no idea how long had he been asleep - came rushing back to him, accompanied by the now rapid _beepbeepbeep_ of what was now presumed to be a heart monitor. Memories came to him like lightning. There was the party, then he and a very drunk Newt had left. They were singing, and then there was a bright light for half a second then never-ending darkness.

“Newt.” Thomas croaked, his throat like sandpaper. He could feel - and hear - his heartbeat starting to pick up dangerously fast. His breathing grew panicked and he dared to turn his head. A searing, red hot pain ripped through his neck and he collapsed, trembling on the pillow, room spinning around him. As far as Thomas could tell, he was alone.

“Newt.” he tried again, the words louder and clearer this time. “Newt!” he gasped loudly, panic seizing him. He _needed_ to find Newt. To see him. To know he was okay. Thomas’s throat began to constrict, the tell tale feeling of an asthma attack creeping up on him. He tried to suck in as much air as he could, pain tearing through his ribs with each labored breath. The panic had really set in - he was utterly defenseless, unable to move, unable to breathe. Each moment that passed sent a new wave of terror through Thomas, the beeping in his ears faster and louder than ever. 

He could feel the oxygen leaving his body, oozing out of him with each short gasp. Black spots began to dance in front of his eyes and the frantic beeping started to grow quieter, farther. Several bodies rushed into the room, moving all around him and yelling words he couldn’t hear. The last thing he saw before everything went black again was a tall, blurry and eerily familiar figure, standing still just outside the door as bodies brushed past it.

Darkness again.

 

-

 

When he opened his eyes again, Thomas was sitting up. The same messy white board was hung on the same boring beige wall and the same plethora of machines surrounded him. There was a needle stuck in his arm and taped there, presumably filling him with some unidentifiable fluid. He felt panic rising in him once again but forced himself to keep it at bay. _Slim it, Thomas,_ he told himself, taking a deep breath.

Then he noticed a doctor in a white lab coat standing with their back to him, writing something down on a bulky chart. Thomas braced himself for pain when he slowly turned his head, surveying the rest of the room. Surprisingly, no agony ripped through him this time. Nothing. Thomas was shocked, curling his fingers and toes painlessly.

“Ah, Thomas, you’re awake!” The doctor - an older woman with pale blonde hair - had turned around and was now smiling at him.

“Where’s Newt?” Thomas asked, the words falling out of him before he knew what he was even saying. “I need to see Newt.”

The woman’s smile softened. “Thomas, you’ve been in a very bad car accident. You and your friend-”

“Boyfriend.” Thomas corrected automatically, eyes flickering from the empty doorway back to the doctor.

The doctor didn’t miss a beat. “You and your boyfriend were hit by a truck very late last night. The passenger’s side took most of the impact but you still have some very serious…” The rest of her words faded into white noise as the truth of her statement hit Thomas with all its reality. _The passenger’s side took most of the impact._ Newt.

“Where is he? Is he okay?”

The woman stopped talking, realizing that Thomas hadn’t listened to one word. She put her hand on the railing beside Thomas and softened her voice. “The truck that hit you was travelling at a dangerously high speed-”

“No.” Thomas whispered, feeling bile burning his throat. “No.” he repeated, tears filling his eyes. This was _not_ happening. “No, no, no, no, no-”

“I’m sorry, Thomas. Newt-”

“No. No!” he yelled, clutching the railings beside him. He ignored the dull ache in his arms as he squeezed, tears falling from his eyes. “No, you don’t _understand._ I almost lost him before, I can’t lose him again, I can’t, I can’t, I-” he began to hyperventilate now, the walls of his throat growing closer and closer as the reality of the situation hit him full force. Newt was dead. The doctor didn’t even have to say it. He was dead and gone from the moment the truck hit them.

Newt was dead.


	2. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!! i would like to say thank you to everyone for all the amazing feedback on the first chapter, i was so overwhelmed with all the kindness and it really means a lot that you guys are enjoying my story!
> 
> so here's chapter two! no big triggers for this one, just the usual angst and sadness. and a few? happy moments. okay maybe one. we'll see.

 

### 

 

 

_**“Farewells can be shattering, but returns are surely worse.”** _

**― Margaret Atwood**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a couple of days before Thomas spoke again. The doctors and nurses had been in and out of his room, taking him for tests then bringing him back to wallow in his silence. His parents were practically sleeping in the hospital, spending as much time as they could with him, working around their busy schedules. Despite the multitude of conversations around and usually about him, Thomas didn’t speak a single word. He couldn’t find it in him to say anything, do anything. There wasn’t anything to say, in his opinion. Newt was dead, Thomas wasn’t. That was it.

Thomas could feel people starting to get frustrated with him. The doctors had taken his silence with practiced patience, and his parents with deep concern. They kept urging him to just _say something, please,_ but Thomas didn’t want to say anything. But not talking didn’t mean he wouldn’t cooperate. He did what he could to show the doctors he was listening when they rambled at him about his injuries and taking care of them once he was discharged.

 _That_ was an impressive list, Thomas had to admit. The accident had left him with whiplash, a concussion, three broken ribs, a few burns, somewhere around twenty stitches, and a plethora of scrapes and bruises. Where the accident had given, it had also taken. It had taken Thomas’s car - completely destroyed. It had also taken Newt, as Thomas was painfully aware of each second that passed by.

 

Three days after the accident, Thomas’s mother gently rested her hand on Thomas’s face. “The funeral is today.” she said softly, the morning light illuminating one half of her face. “Lisa said she’d come by later.”

Thomas nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The funeral. Newt’s funeral. The more he thought about it the bigger the lump grew, nearly choking him. Today, Newt would be laid out inside a coffin - closed casket, for sure - and then lowered into the earth, never to be seen again. There would be a crowd of sad-faced teenagers, along with the parents that outlived their own child.

And it was all Thomas’s fault.

It was, really. There was a lot of time to think, sitting in a hospital bed all day. Thomas had rationalized the entire thing. He was driving that night, he should’ve seen the truck. Should’ve been paying more attention. Should’ve braked, swerved, done _something_ to not get Newt killed. It was, in his mind, absolutely and completely his own fault, and no one else’s. Newt didn’t get to graduate high school, or get his first job, or go to college, or get married, or have kids, or _anything_ , and it was all because of him. Tears formed in his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that week and his mother squeezed his hand gently before leaving. 

Thomas looked up only when he heard her soft footsteps fading away in the hall. Tears fell onto his cheeks, wobbling down slowly toward his chin. Newt was _really_ gone. Thomas sighed loudly and let his head fall back onto the pillow, falling asleep almost instantly.

 

-

 

Thomas’s eyelids fluttered open to brightness. He’d lost track of time in the hospital, all the hours and days blending together in one miserable blur.  He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping, but guessed it wasn’t long. He blinked the crust out of his eyes and looked over to the open door, surprised by the figure standing there.

“Hey, shank.” It was Minho. His voice was quieter than Thomas had ever heard and carried no trace of the normal sarcasm. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and Thomas was shocked to see his feet in something other than running shoes - then he remembered the funeral.

“Hey.” Thomas whispered, half-surprised by the fact that his vocal chords still worked. Minho walked toward Thomas, a tiny sad smile on his face. Tears filled Thomas’s eyes again at the sight of his best friend.

Minho’s own eyes started to glisten. “Come on, man, I just finished bawling my eyes out.” But the tears dropped all the same and he pulled Thomas into a hug. “I-” he stuttered into Thomas’s shoulder, unable to find words.

“I know. I know.” Thomas said, his own tears falling onto Minho’s suit. Thomas wondered if he was dehydrated from all this crying. It seemed like it was all he had done in the past few days. He and Minho came apart and they just stared at each other for a few seconds. As Thomas looked at his friend, guilt reached down his throat and twisted his stomach. _He_ had done that to Minho. All that pain, the pain he was feeling right in that moment - that was because of _him._ Thomas nearly heaved right then and there, and he would have had it not been for Minho’s voice distracting him.

“It... It was awful. All these shuck sissies boohooin’ like they really knew him.” Anger flashed across Minho’s face for a short second. “There was so many kids from school, people Newt’s never even spoken to. They didn’t know him, and they still sat there all weepy. God, it was awful.” Minho paused to take a deep breath. “They didn’t know him. They’re gonna go back to their little houses and get out their little yearbooks and find his little picture, then they’ll reminisce the one or two times they saw him in the hall, then they’ll forget about it. Forget about him.” Minho’s jaw was set hard now, fists clutching the railing of Thomas’s bed. “They won’t have to live with his absence every single day. They won’t have an empty spot at their lunch table. They won’t-”

“Min.” Thomas said, snapping Minho back to reality. He looked at Thomas with wide, wet eyes. “I know.”

After a long moment, Minho relaxed his grip on the bed. “I miss him.”

“I miss him too, Min.”

 

-

 

That evening, Thomas’s parents came into the room with his doctor and good news.

“Hi, Thomas.” his dad said carefully, drumming his fingers lightly at his sides.

“H-hi dad. Hi mom.” Thomas said, trying his best attempt at a smile for his parents. The effort was worth it; both his mom and dad instantly broke out into full-on grins at the sound of their son’s voice.

The doctor flipped open her chart. “Thomas, you seem to be doing better.” Thomas nodded politely and she continued. “We have no more reason to keep you here any longer, and I’m sure you must be going _crazy_ just sitting in that bed. So, as of right now, you are discharged.” She flipped her chart closed with a smile then turned to Thomas’s parents. “You’ll just have to make sure to watch for…” Thomas stopped listening. He figured he should feel excited to leave after three (four? he wasn’t sure) days in the hospital, but he just felt numb. Completely numb. No semblance of anything that could be called emotion flickered inside of him, nothing.

The doctor spoke up again. “Now, it is protocol for discharges to be taken out in a wheelchair, so I’ll get that ready for you in just a moment then you’re free to go.”

“Okay.”

 

The car ride home was almost wholly silent. Thomas’s parents didn’t speak and neither did he. The radio remained off and Thomas busied himself with the trees flashing by them in sunset-lit hues. He was aware of his mom glancing back at him every minute or so but he chose to ignore her obvious concern. The sun was dipping below the horizon rapidly and once they were just ten minutes from home, the streetlights flickered on. The car was stopped at an intersection and Thomas was studying the cracks in the sidewalk when he saw him. _Newt._

Thomas inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to the window. It was surely Newt, standing on the corner of the street, looking directly at him. His arms were crossed lazily and his weight was shifted to one side. Definitely Newt. He stared at Thomas with an utterly neutral expression, no anger or happiness or sadness at all. Thomas blinked in dizzying disbelief and just like that Newt was gone, disappeared in an instant. The car jerked and started to move forward, Newt nowhere to be seen through the glass, now clouded, courtesy of Thomas’s heavy breaths.

It had to have been Newt. Had to. Thomas had recognized his posture and his stance instantly. It was him, no doubt about it. But that didn’t make any _sense_. It couldn’t have actually been Newt. All the logic pointed to “impossible”. But the feeling deep in Thomas’s gut pointed to “possible, just happened”. Thomas’s head was reeling by the time they reached home and he disappeared up the stairs and into his bed without saying a word to either his parents or his little brother, who he hadn’t seen since before the accident. Thomas felt bad at that, but he was sure that Chuck would understand.

 

It felt like hours before Thomas fell asleep. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The image of Newt standing on the corner of the sidewalk bounced around in his mind, and Thomas was beginning to doubt himself. It must have been some drugs from the hospital still in his system. Or a stress-induced hallucination, or _something._ Newt was dead, Thomas knew that for sure. The clock read 1:22 in bright red as he finally decided that he would forget about the whole incident and never speak of it to anyone.  Sleep didn’t come for another hour, and when it did it was coloured with nightmares, shocking Thomas awake almost every thirty minutes.

 

-

 

Thomas didn’t go back to school until the following Monday. It was a long six days spent ghosting around the house aimlessly paired with nights consisting mostly of not sleeping. He was supposed to be resting, letting his body heal his injuries before he eased back into “normal life”. But the rest was just not happening. Thomas spent his nights staring at his ceiling, scared to sleep. Because when sleep finally did grip him tight and pull him under, Thomas usually woke up screaming. Each night his parents, and occasionally Chuck, would burst into his room at least twice to try and wake Thomas from his nightmares. They weren’t always the same, but they were always about Newt. Dying. In terrible, terrible ways. After the third night back home, Thomas was so afraid of falling asleep that he left his bedroom light on at all times.

The days, however, passed with Thomas in a haze. All he could think about, unsurprisingly, was Newt. Guilt overwhelmed him, hanging like an oversized umbrella over him, just big enough to block everything that stood before him. It was always present in the forefront of his mind. He tried to put on a front for his parents and Chuck - especially Chuck - so that they wouldn’t worry too much about him. They were already freaked out with all the screaming at night; he didn’t want them to worry even more. He didn’t want to cause any more pain for anyone else.

Besides, he had appointments set up with a psychiatrist the hospital had recommended for him. Thomas would tell _them_ about the terrifying nightmares and the crushing guilt, not his already stressed out parents.

 

-

 

When that Monday morning finally came, Thomas was sure that he would rather have been anywhere else in the entire world. Anywhere. Canada. Hong Kong. At his grandparent’s cottage. Stranded in the middle of the ocean, even. Anywhere that wasn’t full of people that knew he basically murdered his very own boyfriend. But alas, as the clock struck 8:00 that morning, Thomas was sitting in the passenger seat of his mom’s car outside the main entrance to the school.

“Remember your meeting with the guidance counsellor.”

“Yeah.” Thomas huffed a nervous breath. A second later he added, “Thanks, mom.”

His mom smiled softly, reaching out to touch Thomas’s face, making sure not to knock the bandage covering his stitches. “You’ll be fine, Thomas. I love you.”

“Love you too.” Thomas tried a smile. “Bye.” he said, opening the door with a rush of nerves coming over him. It was early and there was only a handful of students that Thomas could see. He made his way toward the big set of glass doors, feeling like it’d been an eternity since he’d seen them last.

As he pushed the door open a blast of warm air hit him and his stomach almost jumped up his throat and out of his mouth. He slowly started on his way toward the guidance office, checking around him quickly to see if anyone had started pointing and whispering yet. So far, so good.

 _Yeah, but it won’t last long,_ Thomas thought to himself, slipping into the waiting room outside the guidance offices. He knew that everyone knew about the accident, Minho had told him that much. So he was expecting the stares and the awkward “are you okay?” from the occasional idiot. He wasn’t excited about it in the least, but he knew that he’d have Minho there with him.

After a couple minutes of waiting a voice grabbed Thomas’s attention. “Thomas?” It was the guidance counsellor, Mr. Gallarga. He was young compared to the rest of the counsellors Thomas had seen, with brown skin and a youthful - almost mischievous - smile. There was something about him that felt almost playful, as if everything was a circus and he was the ringleader. Thomas had seen him a few times over the years, and despite a bit of intimidation he’d felt at the start, he’d grown to like the man.

Thomas got up without a word and followed Mr. Gallarga into the small office. His desk was neat, all the papers and files collected neatly in one corner. The walls were mostly bare, except for a few posters about self-help including various hotlines. “How are you doing, Thomas?” Thomas was a bit surprised at his tone, serious and entirely unlike Mr. Gallarga. Thomas almost expected the counsellor to call him _hermano_ , like he normally addressed his students.

“Uhm,” was all Thomas could manage to get out. He could feel tears starting to burn behind his eyes and he swore internally. _Shit._ He hadn’t thought it would be this hard. “I, uh. It’s hard.” he stated simply, staring intently at the pile of papers on the desk in front of him.

“Of course.” Mr. Gallarga said, “nobody your age should ever have to go through something like that. Losing someone like that. I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks.” It was a whisper.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it so I won’t dwell. If at any time during the day you feel like you need to just get away from everything, even during class, you can come here."

Thomas looked up, surprised. “Wow.” he said, “Thanks." 

Mr. Gallarga smiled, clicking his pen a few times. “And I’ve spoken with all your teachers, you don’t have to worry about any of the work you missed, just catching up on the lessons.” Thomas nodded. That wouldn’t be too hard. Minho was in his math and English classes. “And if you’re feeling overwhelmed, come see me.”

Thomas nodded again. “Okay.” he said, toying with a loose thread on his sleeve.

Mr. Gallarga leaned back in his seat, putting his feet up on the desk. Thomas blinked, not at all surprised by the counsellor’s behavior. He clicked his pen. “If there’s not anything else you’d like to discuss, you’re free to go. I’m sure you’d like to have a bit of time to yourself before the masses arrive.”

Thomas stood. Mr. Gallarga had hit the nail right on the head; Thomas really did want some time alone before the day really started. “Yeah, thanks Mr. Gallarga.” he turned towards the door, reaching for the handle.

“And Thomas?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your head up, _hermano_.”

Thomas almost felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at that. He turned the handle and walked out of the room, taking in a big breath. There were a more students than before walking through the atrium and Thomas looked to his phone for the time. 8:13. Swallowing thickly, Thomas took a step forward. Time to face the world.

 

-

 

By the time the lunch bell rang, Thomas almost collapsed in relief. Math and English had been his first two classes, the ones that he had with Minho. From the moment Thomas walked into homeroom, it was apparent that his first day back would not be an easy one. The room quieted the moment he stepped into it, conversations grinding to a halt mid-sentence. 

Minho had arrived late, as per usual, and quickly made it apparent that his mission for the day was to “protect Thomas from the slintheads of the world”. And that he did. Each person he caught staring was immediately given the official Minho Glare™. If anyone tried - or looked like they were going to try - to approach either him or Thomas, he unleashed an utterly impressive string of profanities without the slightest hesitation. He updated Thomas on all the happenings that he’d missed, which apparently wasn’t much, because their school was filled with “boring shanks that don’t do anything”. Thomas had almost laughed at that one. He was grateful that he had Minho with him to distract him from the eyes burning holes on his back. Minho had to be reeling from Newt’s death as well, but he still made it his priority to make sure Thomas was comfortable when he came back. But it was still hard. After the bell to signal the end of first period rang and the pair had stepped out into the hall, it was eerily silent. There was a heavy tension in the air that made Minho scowl as he picked up his pace, Thomas following close behind, staring at Minho’s heels the entire time. The constant attention was _exhausting_ , and Thomas was glad for the ringing at the end of second period.

Thomas threw his books at the bottom of his locker without a second glance. He reached into his bag, pulling out the lunch his mom _insisted_ she make for him, saying something about proper nutrition and healing. At least she hadn’t written his name on the bag with a big heart drawn around it like she used to do when Thomas was a kid. He drummed his fingers on the edge of his locker door, praying that Minho would hurry up. His friend had promised to meet him at his locker before they went down for lunch together.

A familiar hand clapped down on his shoulder and Thomas closed his locker, locking it shut. “Hey.” Minho said, his normal enthusiasm a bit lacking. “Ready to go?”

Thomas nodded. “Yep.”

The two started their way down the hall, heading for the old brick staircase. Minho made pointless conversation, babbling on about the English project Thomas was lucky to miss out on from last week. Thomas was thankful for the noise as they headed through the crowded atrium, but he couldn’t help but feel like all the buzzing conversations were about _him_. Eyes seemed to follow him as he and Minho walked on, volume around them dipping just enough for Thomas to be paranoid.

They reached the doors of the cafeteria and everything seemed to stop. A hundred pairs of eyes were on them and Thomas stopped dead in his tracks. The room was quiet, everybody shocked out of their own conversations. It was as if Thomas and Minho had both sprouted extra arms growing out of their chests.

“Shit.” Minho swore, grabbing Thomas’s arm and starting to pull him away. But Thomas couldn’t move. He was frozen in place, focused on a freakish fixation in the distance. Their usual table was empty, untouched, but beside it was a sight that Thomas couldn’t believe he was seeing. Every muscle in his body tensed, leaving him rigid in shock.

It was Newt.

“Come on, let’s go.” Minho said, the words just barely floating onto Thomas’s register. Newt was standing beside their table, eyes locked on Thomas. He didn’t move, just stood there. Minho was talking half to himself and half to Thomas as he dragged him from the cafeteria, pulling him away from all the staring people, from _Newt._ “Idiot. Should’ve known not to bring you here, not with all those shuck-faces staring-”

“Did you see that?” Thomas interrupted, craning his neck to look back at the spot where he’d seen Newt as Minho took him farther from the cafeteria.

“Yeah, all those shanks gaping at us like we were their messed up little lab rats?” Minho asked.

Minho was moving at a very fast pace and the doors to the cafeteria were distant rectangles to Thomas at this point. He shook his head, finally turning around and walk-running to catch up to Minho. “No, not that, I-” Thomas stopped himself mid thought, not sure if the apparition was even worth sharing. He didn’t want Minho thinking he’d gone off his rocker or worrying about him even more. He had enough to deal with himself.

“Hm?” Minho hummed, leading Thomas down another, less populated hall.

Thomas sighed. It was the second time he’d seen Newt just standing there, staring at him. “Nothing.”

“Alright.” Minho was satisfied with Thomas’s answer and abruptly stopped, Thomas almost bumping right into him. “We’ll eat here.”

Thomas looked around him. “On the ground?” he asked, doubt dripping from his words. There was nothing but lockers and empty classrooms; no chairs, desks, nothing.

“Yes, on the ground.” Minho said, sitting down with his back against a random locker. “Nobody is here to bother us and god, Thomas, since when are you above sitting on the ground every once in a while?”

Thomas felt a genuine smirk forming on his lips and he sat down beside Minho, shoving his shoulder. “Whatever.” he said, opening his brown bagged lunch. A wrap. Carrots. A granola bar, along with an apple and a container of strawberry yogurt. His mom really wasn’t kidding about the whole nourishment thing. 

“Y’know,” Minho started, mouth already full of sticky peanut butter, “you’re killing the planet with those things. A bag every single day really adds up.” Thomas rolled his eyes. Minho, ever since his first semester environmental science class, had become almost obsessed with keeping the planet clean. “Go reusable.” he said, holding up the simple black lunch bag he brought to school every day.

Thomas snorted and for the first time that day he felt vaguely normal. Minho joined in, chuckling, until both boys were full-out laughing: sides clutched, stomachs burning, breaths being wheezed in and out until it hurt to breathe at all. They were laughing for no reason at all, and if anyone were to pass by them in the hall Thomas was certain they’d think he and Minho had lost it.

A minute later, they both fell silent and remained that way until lunch was over.

 

-

 

Thomas was alone for both of his afternoon classes. He couldn’t have focused if he’d tried. His thoughts were jumbled up in his head, bouncing from one side of his skull to the other. He’d almost gone to see Mr. Gallarga, but stopped himself. He wanted to at least make it through one day. Just one day.

He did end up making it through the day, but barely. By the time he got home, all he wanted to do was collapse. Even the kitchen floor looked comfy to him. He thanked his mother for picking him up from school - she had to leave work early and Thomas felt _awful_. He had insisted he could walk but both of his parents told him that the doctors and his psychiatrist, which he had yet to meet, had said it would be best if Thomas wasn’t left alone for too long. At least not for the first few weeks.

Thomas headed up to his room without even grabbing his usual after-school snack. He knew his mom would be disappointed and even more so when she saw his half eaten lunch in his bag. But in that moment Thomas didn’t care about anything but disappearing under his covers and never reappearing again.

 

When Thomas opened the door to his room, he almost threw up right then and there.

There was someone sitting on the edge of his bed, covered by dark shadows. They turned their head and the light caught their eyes, dark brown and looking right at Thomas.

 

“Hey, Tommy.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh!! that was fun, wasn't it? what a nice time. anyway, next chapter will be up a week from now, on saturday. feedback is appreciated, also feel free to come chat w me on [my tumblr](http://newtmas.tk)! :^)


	3. really fucking confused (what's new)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! this chapter is a lot longer than i expected, i was writing and things just? happened? the story is taking a bit of a different turn that i originally planned, but i think it will be much better this way.
> 
> anyway, as for potential triggers this chapter is pretty light, just some implied sexual content and very very brief implied suicide attempt, as well as a minor anxiety/panic attack. enjoy!

 

### 

 

 

 

_**"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;** _

_**I lift my lids and all is born again.** _

_**(I think I made you up inside my head.)"** _

**— Sylvia Plath**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was Newt. It had to be. There was not the most infinitesimal inkling of insecurity in Thomas’s mind of this fact. He stood, speechless, grabbing onto the doorframe so that he wouldn’t faint. He gasped, apparently quite loudly so, because not a second later his mom called up to him. 

“Thomas? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, mom, uh- Yeah!”

Thomas looked down the stairs. Nothing. He slipped into his room and closed the door as quietly as he could. He took a deep breath, and turned back towards his bed.

“Well, are you gonna buggin’ say hello or what?” Newt moved out of the shadow and Thomas felt all the air leave his lungs. Newt looked _beautiful_. His smile, the smile that Thomas missed so much, the one he was used to being the reason for - there it was, right on Newt’s lips. He had that same look in his eyes as he always did whenever he was with Thomas, the one that screamed pure adoration. It was him. It was Newt. It was really, really Newt.

“Newt.” Thomas wasn’t sure if he actually spoke the word or not.

Newt stood, laughing breathlessly. “Hi.”

They both remained silent and unmoving for a moment, studying each others faces. Then Newt took a step towards Thomas and Thomas took a half-step back, instinctively. Something in his mind set off a red flag. He knew that this was very, very wrong.

But then Newt’s expression changed, looking so damn _hurt_ , as hurt as Thomas had ever seen him. The corners of his lips turned down, mouth slightly open. He exhaled audibly and Thomas swore he almost looked like he was in actual, physical pain. That look was all it took for Thomas to ditch all the feelings in his gut and lunge for Newt, taking his small frame in his arms and holding on as tight as he could. Sobs were racking through him before he even knew what was happening and his vision blurred.

“Newt.” he gasped, clutching onto the blond’s hair. Just as soft as he remembered. “Newt.” he repeated, the name the only word he could comprehend at the moment.

“It’s me, Tommy, it’s me.” Newt said right into Thomas’s ear in that thick voice that Thomas thought he’d never hear again.

Thomas inhaled deeply, taking in everything that was happening. Something pricked at his stomach, another bad feeling. Something wasn’t right. He pulled away from Newt. “How-” he stopped, closing his eyes tight. When he opened them again, Newt was still there. “How is this possible?” he asked, “You’re dead, Newt. We got hit by a _truck."_  

Newt’s eyes flickered down to his feet. “Tommy, I-”

Thomas shook his head. “You’re dead. You died.”

“Would you like to interrupt some more?” Newt quipped. Thomas stayed silent this time, a bit surprised. “I’m here. I’m fine. Look.” Newt continued while Thomas stared at his hands. This didn’t feel right. “Look at me, Tommy.” Newt’s voice softened on the last word and Thomas finally looked back at the boy he loved.

“I don’t-”

“Tommy.”

“Newt, this doesn’t make any-”

Then they were kissing. Thomas didn’t know when Newt had gotten so close to him again but his body was pressed up against Thomas’s and his lips were so soft, so warm, so _familiar,_ and Thomas stopped caring about the feeling in his gut. The red flag in his brain, the prick in his stomach, it all melted away. The only thing in the world that mattered was Newt’s lips on his and Newt’s hands on his waist and oh, god, how Thomas had _missed_ Newt. But now he was back and he was kissing Thomas, and everything else was unimportant.

Thomas’s head felt like it was going to explode from a lack of oxygen and he finally pulled away, he and Newt’s foreheads resting together, heavy breaths shared between them. Thomas’s mind was spinning and he pulled Newt over to his bed, falling onto it with Newt on top of him.

 

 

When Thomas woke up he was cold. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and looked around the room. Empty. He felt a pang of sadness hit him. What did this mean? Newt was gone, obviously. Was it just a dream? Some weird, vivid dream? Thomas almost hoped so. In any other circumstance, having his boyfriend appear in his room randomly wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But in this circumstance, the one that was actually happening, his boyfriend wasn’t alive. A headache started to blossom over Thomas’s left temple as he heard his door open.

“Thomas?” It was his mom. Thomas blinked at the sudden brightness leaking in from beyond his door, feeling a twinge of panic. It passed within a second. “I know you’re resting, but it’s past supper, and you need to eat. And we need to change your bandages.”

“Oh, okay.” Thomas said, shuffling to sit up straight in his bed. He wiped a bit of drool out of the corner of his mouth and yawned.

His mom spoke up again, concern colouring her voice. “Oh, were you warm? Are you running a fever?”

Thomas quirked an eyebrow, frowning. Then he looked down. No shirt. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he remembered just _why_ he had no shirt on. “Uh, yeah, I was just too hot.” he stammered, feeling around for his long-forgotten t-shirt. He spotted it strewn carelessly on his desk chair. “I’m good now.” he said, coughing.

“Okay, well, there’s a plate for you in the fridge.” his mom said, smiling before she slipped out and shut the door again.

Thomas let his head fall back onto the pillow, exasperated. This was really fucked up.

 

-

 

The next afternoon, Thomas had his first appointment with his psychiatrist. He was sitting in a white waiting room when a tall, dark-skinned man came out through the door to a small office. “Thomas Murphy?” he asked, looking right at Thomas. His mom squeezed his hand. Even though she had to leave work, she’d insisted on being there with Thomas for his first appointment. Thomas squeezed back and stood. 

“Hi.” he said, fixing the hem of his shirt. The man gestured for him to go into his office, a rather spacious room with a bright red couch.

“Take a seat, Thomas.” he said, nodding to the couch. The man took a seat across from him in a matching red armchair. He reached over to a desk and pulled out a notebook and pen.

Thomas stayed silent, taking in his surroundings. There was a massive bookshelf that was packed with countless white spines, all thick and professional-looking. Framed degrees decorated the wall behind the doctor, listing off all of the doctor’s qualifications and achievements. They all read “Jeff Medjack” in fancy black lettering. Thomas was impressed. It seemed as if the hospital had hooked Thomas up with the best of the best.

“So, Thomas, how are you feeling?” Thomas almost laughed at how therapist-like the man sounded. He couldn’t hide the sudden smirk on his face. “Something funny?” Jeff asked, expression bordering on curious.

“It’s just-” Thomas started, now actually laughing, “that’s such a therapist thing to say.”

Jeff joined in on his laughing, thoroughly amused. “Alright, I guess we can skip the formalities. You can call me Jeff.” Thomas nodded, smile starting to fade. “What I’d like to start with is a few surveys, just so I can get a feel for how you’re doing.” 

“Okay.” Thomas said. Jeff got up and started pulling out stacks of paper from a desk drawer, letting the pile down with a _thunk_ on the desk. He shuffled through the papers and pulled out a few of them, sitting back down.

“Here you go.” he said, handing them all to Thomas, along with a dull pencil. “Take as long as you need, but it’s very important that you answer as honestly as possible.”

Thomas started flipping through the pages, taking a look at the quizzes. They all seemed simple enough. He took the one on the top of the stack and drummed the pencil between his fingers.  He filled out some basic information about himself, then a set of questions with a scale from 1-5 he had to answer on. At first the questions were simple enough, like “ _I usually feel at ease in my own home, 1 being not true at all and 5 being very true_ ”. He went through the list, filling in the little bubbles as he went. As he went through the pages the questions got more personal. “ _I have considered committing suicide, 1 being not true at all and 5 being very true_ ”. Thomas couldn’t help but shiver at that one and wonder how many of those sheets Newt had had to fill out the year before.

Eventually he finished colouring in all of the answer bubbles and handed the sheets back to Jeff. He put them on his desk without a second look then turned to Thomas. Thomas was wondering just how much Jeff knew about the accident when the man spoke. “Tell me about the accident. Start at the beginning. Tell me everything that happened.”

Thomas stopped breathing. He hadn’t told anyone - not even Minho - everything that happened. He was too scared to talk about it. As if saying the words would be the final nail in Newt’s coffin. But for some reason Thomas couldn’t quite understand, the words started to spill out of him all on their own.

“It was a Friday. It was, uh, it was really late. Like almost two in the morning, and me and Newt both had work that morning so we were leaving. I hadn’t had any drinks, so I was driving. Newt had some though, he was pretty far gone. We were fine, though. There wasn’t anyone else on the road, and Newt was singing some Taylor Swift song-” Thomas paused, almost shriveling up at the memory. He’d tried as hard as he possibly could to push that night away from his mind that he forgot how incredible that moment with Newt had felt. His last - well, kind of - moment with Newt. Thomas took a breath and started again. “And then there was this bright light and a big crunching noise and then it was just… black. It all went so fast.”

“Do you blame yourself? For Newt dying?”

 _Woah, loaded question_ , Thomas thought. He took a deep breath. There was no use in lying. “Yeah. It was my fault. I was driving. I should’ve seen the truck.” He spoke with no emotion, no sadness or anger or pain. He’d gone over it so many times in his head that it was just numb.

“But you said yourself, it all went really fast. How could you have known there would have been a truck on the road?”

Thomas didn’t speak. He supposed he should have felt some kind of relief or release or _something_ at Jeff’s suggestion, but he just felt nothing. He simply shrugged.

Jeff moved on. “Have you experienced any flashbacks of that night?”

That got Thomas’s attention. “What do you mean by flashbacks?” he asked, wondering if making out with his dead boyfriend counted.

“Well, any intrusive memories, nightmares, that kind of stuff.”

“Nightmares.” Thomas said, face paling. His nights were plagued with sick, distorted versions of the accident.

Jeff nodded, scribbling something in his notebook. “Any distress when reminded of the accident?”

Thomas thought about it. When his mom had come in his room the night before, the sudden bright light had made him panic, for just an instant.  “Yeah.”

Jeff nodded again, scribbling more. Thomas spoke up again. “Sometimes I swear I see him. Newt, I mean.” he swallowed thickly, not sure if sharing that was a good idea. But he had to tell _someone_.

At that Jeff looked up, intrigued. “Where do you see him?”

“At school, mostly.” Thomas lied. He decided to tread carefully. “Like, out of the corner of my eye I’ll see him in the hall. Or sometimes he’ll just be standing there, staring at me. But then I blink and he’s gone.” Thomas’s voice almost broke on the last word. Newt was gone. Or supposed to be, anyway. Every time he thought about it he got so damn confused. It was probably messing with his grieving process or something like that. It couldn’t be good for his brain.

“That’s.. Interesting.” Jeff said, clearly deep in thought. Thomas wondered if he was going to diagnose him with something. Maybe more than one thing was wrong with him. _Two for one special_ , Thomas thought. Whatever it was that Jeff said, there was probably more, considering what Thomas hadn’t told him.

Jeff’s voice broke Thomas out of his morbid musings. “I still have to take a look at your survey results, but I’m going to say you’re experiencing an acute stress reaction to the accident, Thomas.”

“Oh,” was all Thomas could say.

“We’re going to meet once a week to discuss how you’re doing. We don’t want this developing into PTSD, which is unfortunately quite possible. You’ve gone through a terrible trauma.”

“Uh, alright.” Thomas said, still shocked. _Acute stress reaction?_ Thomas had never even heard of that before. PTSD, sure but that only happened to soldiers. Or at least that’s what Thomas had thought. He opened his mouth to ask about when or how an acute stress reaction would turn into PTSD but a shrill ding stopped him short.

“Looks like we’re out of time for today, but I’ll be seeing you next week.” Jeff stood and Thomas followed his lead, thanking him quietly before heading for the door. On the other side, he was met with his mom.

“How was it?” she asked. Her lips were turned upwards, a small smile taking place on them, but her eyes told a different story. His mom was _tired_. She worked full-time and still, somehow, found the time to completely take care of Thomas since the accident, doting on him and making sure he was as okay as he could be. The last two weeks had taken a lot out of her, that Thomas could tell.

“It was good.” he said, trying to match her tiny smile. “The guy was nice. I had to fill in some surveys and stuff, not a lot of talking. I guess it’s like that for the first session.” Thomas paused, smile faltering. He knew what came next would worry his mom even more. “He said that I’m probably having an acute stress reaction.”

Thomas’s mom’s eyebrows drew together instantly, the corners of her lips dipping down. “Oh,” she said, trying to cover her obvious distress. Thomas didn’t speak, just looked at his shoes, and after a moment his mom spoke again. “Well, they can treat that, right?”

Thomas hesitated for a second. Acute stress reaction, sure. The stuff Thomas hadn’t mentioned? Not so sure. He took a second and turned to his mom. “Right.”

 

-

 

The next day at school was no better than the first. He and Minho had eaten in that empty hallway again, and Thomas’s ass was starting to hurt from its time spent on the floor. The actual school part of school was starting to be an issue as well; Thomas was completely lost in all of his classes. There was a lot of new material to learn and no time to learn it, while the rest of the class was already moving onto new lessons and building on the ones he missed. It was endlessly frustrating. Thomas had more homework than he’d ever had before, but on that third night after his return to school, he pushed it all aside and brought out his laptop.

About twenty tabs were open on his browser, none of them school-related. He had an old notebook open beside the laptop, and there was a single word written on the first page:

 

**HALLUCINATIONS**

 

Thomas knew that there was no way Newt could really have been there with him the night before. It was impossible, he knew that. So, he wanted to get to the bottom of it. He hadn’t seen Newt that day - yet - and he needed to know if his mind was just playing a cruel trick on him.

He scrolled through a few websites, though their legitimacy was questionable, trying to find something that would spark his mind. The first few websites were duds, suggesting dementia or alzheimer’s. A lot of the pages he looked at, however, mentioned psychosis and schizophrenia. Thomas was starting to get worried and let out a sigh. The weight of the situation was starting to hit him. What was happening to him was obviously not supposed to be happening. Thomas was starting to realize that something could be seriously wrong with him, something beyond his own control. Something in his brain.

Then a thought sparked Thomas’s brain. Jeff had mentioned PTSD. Could hallucinations be a symptom of that? Thomas’s fingers flew as he typed the words _PTSD_ and _hallucinations_ into the search bar. A whole slew of pages popped up and Thomas chose the most credible-looking one.

It seemed like he read for _hours_. Thomas copied down paragraphs and lists about psychosis, trauma, and countless statistics from studies he wasn’t even sure were relevant. At the end of four websites and six articles, he’d filled three whole pages in his notebook with his messy handwriting. His hand ached but he ignored it, going over his notes for a third time.

From what he’d read, Thomas figured that psychosis was a set of symptoms, either “negative” or “positive”. The negative symptoms were things lost, like ability to express emotions or efficiency in thinking. Positive symptoms were things that weren’t there before, like delusions or hallucinations. Thomas had made a list of all the symptoms he found, putting stars beside the ones he thought he might have. He shuddered when he saw seven stars scribbled in the margin beside the list. But he continued on. People who experienced PTSD rarely showed too many signs of psychosis, but it was possible.

 

The light from Thomas’s window was starting to fade when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You’re not hallucinating, you know.”

Thomas froze, every muscle in his body rigid. He couldn’t speak. He felt a presence right behind him, looking over his shoulder.

“And, ow. You should probably have a little more respect for the dearly departed, yeah? Don’t wanna go breakin’ my little heart, do ya?” 

Thomas refused to turn around. “You said last night that you weren’t dead.” His voice sounded more scared than anything.

“Actually, I never said anything near the likes of that, because you couldn’t bring yourself to stop interrupting me.” Newt suddenly jumped up on Thomas’s desk, swiping the notebook from beside the laptop. “Interesting.” he said, nodding thoughtfully at the paper. “Inability to feel pleasure? You seemed pretty pleased last night.”

Thomas snatched the notebook from Newt’s hands, feeling a burn in his cheeks. “You shouldn’t be looking at that. It’s like - it’s like letting the dog see the needle that’s gonna kill it.” Thomas mumbled the last part to himself, closing the book.

“You’re going to have me put down?” Newt nearly whined. Thomas tore his eyes from his fingernails to meet Newt’s, big and sad and most of all, hurt. “Like I’m no more than a buggin’ _animal?_ ” The pain in his voice was almost too much for Thomas to bear. He couldn’t stand seeing Newt like this.

“That’s - that’s not what I meant, Newt.”

“Of course it’s what you bloody meant.” Anger trickled into his voice now, eyebrows dropping low.

Thomas let the notebook down on the table, reaching out for Newt. He pulled away. “I wasn’t trying to say that. I just-” he stopped, a million thoughts running through his head at once. Why was Newt there again, what made him appear? Why was he seeing him? What was going on? “I just don’t know anything right now.” Thomas finally said. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. You’re not supposed to _be_ here, Newt.” Thomas felt a bit of anger bubbling up inside of him.

“But I am.”

“I know.”

Silence. Thomas just couldn’t wrap his head around it. Around anything. Why Newt was there, what was happening to him, why it was happening to him. Nothing made sense. Newt was still sitting on Thomas’s desk, chewing his fingernails, like he always did when he was nervous or upset. The small action was so inexplicably Newt. The way he was sitting on the desk, too. It was just him. His speech, everything. It was all exactly how it was before he died. Or, didn’t die. It made Thomas’s head reel, just thinking about it.

After an eternity, Thomas spoke again. His voice was dry and lifeless; he was tired of his big guessing game. “So if you’re not a hallucination, what are you?”

Newt smiled. It was a small smile, maybe even a bit fiendish. A grin. A smirk, maybe. He hopped down from the desk, nose scrunching up a bit. He closed his eyes tight and his shoulders shook, barely, an imperceptible movement. He was _giggling._ Newt did not  _giggle._

“I guess we’ll just have to find out, Tommy.”

 

Then, he was gone.

 

It happened in less than a fraction of a second. One moment, Newt was there, and the next, he wasn’t. Thomas’s jaw went slack and he spun around in his chair. He was completely alone.

It was like magic. Magic, however, as Thomas recalled, was simply a matter of illusion.

Now he was certain. Something was definitely wrong.

 

-

 

Newt was showing up more often at school. It had been a week since the first night, and as his appearances grew more frequent, Thomas grew more on edge.

 

At lunch exactly one week since his return to school, Thomas was waiting for Minho at his locker, leaning against the cool metal. His friend had recently started drinking more water throughout the day to help with his performance at track. Because of this, he’d also started peeing a lot more. That day, his second trip to the washroom had apparently been scheduled at the time he usually met with Thomas for lunch. Which meant Thomas had to stand there, waiting, pointlessly watching groups of other students filter by.

Among the groups appeared a familiar heap of blond hair, and for a moment Thomas forgot. For one, perfect, blissful moment he forgot.  “Hey.” he said, quietly, smiling when the head turned, making its way toward Thomas.

It was Newt, obviously. “Hey, stranger.” he said, weaving through the crowd, no one bothering to move out of his way.

“Are you free to-” Thomas froze mid sentence.

The moment had passed.

The hall had quieted considerably, dozens of eyes staring right at him. It was like he was on the wet side of an aquarium, spectators spectating his fishy face. Thomas was aware of his breathing getting more shallow, more panicked. He put his hand flat on the locker behind him, trying to draw some kind of calmness out of the cold metal.

He looked back to Newt, but the boy was nowhere to be seen, vanished completely. Thomas pushed up off the locker, turning his head to survey the crowds. Almost everyone in the hall was staring at him now. Thomas spotted a blond head shuffling through the crowds, away from him, quickly snaking its way through the spaces between the bodies. Thomas was about to go after it when he felt his back hit something hard.

“Thomas, hey. Thomas!” It was Minho. Thomas blinked hard, breathing returning to normal. Minho was turned away from him, presumably glaring at the crowds stopped to gawk at Thomas. People started to go about their own business, the normal buzz of conversations rising in volume. Thomas tilted his head to see around Minho. The blond head was slipping away, into the staircase, just as Minho turned back to Thomas. “Hey. Thomas.”

Thomas looked at Minho, his friend’s eyes full of scared concern. Thomas tried to force his breathing to slow down. He looked down at his hands, which were trembling violently. He couldn’t believe that he’d thought Newt was genuinely there. It was like for that second, that moment, everything was just normal. No accident, no hospital, no funeral. No hallucinations. That one exchange with Newt - not Newt, _whatever_ \- had felt so right, so natural. Like it was really Newt, the Newt that Thomas had known and been in love with for years. Something heavy hit Thomas right in the chest. Grief.

Minho’s voice pulled him back to the real world. “ _Thomas._ Stay with me, hey.”

“I-” was all Thomas could get out. He could feel an asthma attack coming on. He needed to calm down. He put his hand onto Minho’s shoulder to steady himself, closing his eyes. He tried to focus on literally anything that wasn’t Newt. Minho’s steady breaths, his tense muscle under Thomas’s hand. The sounds of people walking in the hall, much quieter now. After what seemed like an eternity, he opened his eyes again. Minho was still there, watching him carefully.

“Are you-” Minho struggled to find the right words. “What happened?”

With those two words, Thomas was struck with fear. It twisted itself into his stomach, shot through his veins. It seized his chest, froze every single muscle. It was dark and thick, seeping into the crevices of Thomas’s very being. Telling Minho what had happened - what had been happening to him - made his mouth go dry instantly. There was some instinct inside of him that was screaming at Thomas not to say a word to his best friend. Instead, he stuttered the first words that came to mind. “It’s Newt.” It technically wasn’t a lie. 

Minho’s hard expression softened instantly at the mention of Newt’s name. The hard line his lips had been pressed into drooped, his mouth parted slightly. Sadness was etched onto every inch of his face. He looked down at his feet.

Thomas felt terrible, making Minho feel like this. It was obvious that Newt’s death was taking a huge toll on his friend. He felt even worse that he was lying to Minho, but the little voice at the back of his head told him it was good, that telling him would only make him feel worse, put more on his plate. Minho had enough to deal with.

When Minho looked up again, his serious expression had returned. “Are you sure that’s it? There isn’t something else going on?”

Thomas did everything he could not to let the surprise show on his face. Minho really didn’t miss anything. It made sense, though. He and Thomas had known each other since they were kids, they could always sense when something was off with the other. Still, Thomas lied. “I don’t - I guess I’m just not dealing with it very well, okay?”

Minho shook his head, biting his lip like he was trying not to go off. Thomas braced himself, thought of his next lie. “Dude, you were just acting like you friggin’ saw Newt, hanging out in the hall. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Thomas winced. Too close to the truth. He frowned and drew his eyebrows down, hoping it looked angry enough. “My boyfriend just died, okay? He died. He’s dead. And I’m basically the reason why. So wanna cut me a bit of slack if I freak out every once in a while?” Each word felt like acid on Thomas’s tongue as he spat them at Minho. Guilt thrummed through him but he knew he couldn’t let it show. Not if he wanted not to hurt Minho.

Apparently his words had done the trick. Any accusation Minho was going to make was evidently forgotten, his jaw going slack. “It’s not your fault, Thomas. You know that, right?”

Thomas almost laughed. _Everything_ was his fault. Everything in this terrible, fucked up situation was completely his own fault. “Whatever.” he muttered, looking down at his feet. “Let’s just go.” he said. He brushed by Minho and started down the now empty hall, not looking back to see if his friend was following. He knew he was hurting Minho, but he would be hurting him more if Thomas made him deal with all his hallucination slash ghost crap. And Thomas couldn’t do that to his best friend.

He just kept telling himself one thing. _It’s for the better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. that was fun!! anyone getting nervous? feedback is always super appreciated, also feel free to come chat w me if you have any questions or whatever on [my tumblr](http://newtmas.tk)! until next saturday my lovelies~


	4. !!!??!?!??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! saturday again already. i can't believe we're already at chapter four? a third of the way there.
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to the amazing [lyca](http://newtmos.tumblr.com) because a. she is incredible and i love her, b. today was her birthday!! her birthday is over in like an hour but you guys should still send her some nice messages because she is a huge cutie and so amazing in every way!! (also check out her adorable newmas soulmate au [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4144260/chapters/9347709) you wot regret it ok she is such a talented writer)
> 
> no big triggers for this chapter, but im starting to notice i use swearing a lot? so if you're uncomfortable with that, be aware that there is swearing in this fic. other than that, enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _**“And now you'll be telling stories** _ _**of my coming back** _

__ _**and they won't be false,** _

_**and they won't be true** _

_**but they'll be real”** _

**― Mary Oliver  
**

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was four days later and Thomas was sitting on the red couch again. 

“How have you been, Thomas?”

Thomas could think of a few words that would answer Jeff’s question. _Bad_ being the first one to come to mind, along with _awful, scared, tired_ , and _fucking confused_. He could feel Minho starting to get more worried about him, and Thomas felt terrible that he had to keep pushing him away whenever he tried to see if Thomas was okay. Newt was still showing up everywhere, and Thomas was starting to get more and more concerned. The topic of Newt was a dried up scab that Thomas really wanted to scratch. He could hardly focus on anything else. A part of him wanted to just get it over with, to pick at the skin until it was destroyed, but another part of him was afraid of what might come oozing out once the protective scab was gone.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, dancing on the tastebuds, just waiting to be released into the world. It would be so easy. _I’m hallucinating my dead boyfriend_. Five words. It didn’t even have to be that many, he could just say the first two and leave it at that. It would be so terribly easy. He wanted to say it, he did. But when Thomas opened his mouth to answer Jeff’s question, only one syllable not so much as leapt but stumbled off of his tongue.

“Fine.”

A second later there was a laugh, a short exhale, right beside him. Thomas could feel his entire body tense up. He didn’t need to look. He knew.

Jeff didn’t seem to notice. He raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Thomas didn’t say a word but nodded. Jeff continued, tapping the end of his pen on the notebook he read from. “So, you’re not experiencing any guilt, or flashbacks? No more nightmares? I must be better at my job than i thought.”

Thomas stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He refused to turn and look beside him.  “Alright, I guess I’m not fine.” he hoped his voice sounded casual.

“It’s alright to not be fine, after a trauma like this. It would be concerning if you were completely alright in such a short amount of time.”

That was actually kind of reassuring for Thomas. He sighed and tried not to focus on the nail-biting that was going on three feet to his left. “Well, the nightmares stopped, kind of.” That wasn’t a lie. Since the first night with Newt, Thomas hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night crying once.

“That’s a good sign.” Jeff said.

Thomas gave a weak smile at that. Yeah, it was nice not to scream himself awake twice per night, but not being sure if parts of his day were still a dream or not wasn’t much of an improvement. And neither was having his therapy sessions crashed by his dead boyfriend, but hey, no nightmares. 

“It seems like you’re not saying something.”

Jeff was good at this. It was true, Thomas wasn’t saying something. Thomas wasn’t saying how he was starting to think that he wasn’t really awake when Newt was there. How parts of his life might be some hazy, distorted dreamland. How much it terrified him that most of the time he truly wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. How he wasn’t sure if he was even awake at that very moment.

Thomas decided to tread lightly. “Do you ever get these dreams that are just, so _vivid_? Like you can’t tell if you’re really dreaming or not because they feel so real?”

“Oh, Tommy, we both know they aren’t dreams.” Thomas almost flinched at the words. He dared to look at the floor beside his feet, and surely enough there was a slim leg bouncing off the side of the couch.

Thomas ignored the words and the leg. Jeff seemed to sense where Thomas was going, anyway. “Is Newt in these dreams?”

“I am quite dreamy, aren’t I?”

Thomas looked up at Jeff, Newt’s comment barely registering.  Jeff’s face was so calm, so neutral, practically unreadable. He could have been just guessing, or he could have known _everything_. Maybe he even saw Newt sitting there beside Thomas. Thomas had no way of telling what the man was thinking. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah.” he said, voice faltering a bit. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “It’s like he’s - like he’s really there.” His voice nearly cracked for a second time. It was hard to say the words out loud, with Newt sitting right next to him. He felt ridiculous.

“Are they dreams or memories?”

“Uh, dreams, I think.” Thomas started to backpedal. “But - memories too. Random stuff. I don’t know how to explain it.” This was not a good idea. Panic was starting to seize Thomas again, the very thought of telling Jeff about what was really happening, at that exact moment, was making Thomas feel sick.

Jeff was scribbling something in his notebook, what it said Thomas couldn’t see. While the man wasn’t looking, Newt scooted closer to Thomas, letting an arm hang over his shoulders. Thomas felt the warmth from Newt’s arm, the tiny blond hairs tickling his skin. It felt so _real_. Thomas could feel himself starting to have trouble breathing.

The entire situation was almost comical. There he was, talking to his psychiatrist about his dead boyfriend that was basically _cuddling_ with him as Thomas freaked out like an eighth grader locked in a closet with his crush for a game of seven minutes in heaven. Comedy gold, really.

When Jeff looked up again, he moved on. “How about school?” he asked.

Thomas tried to relax as much as he could. “It’s a bit better than before.” he said, picking at his fingers. “I think the initial shock of everything has died down a bit.”

Newt turned and whispered in Thomas’s ear. “ _Died_ down? It’s a bit soon for that, don’t you think?”

Jeff nodded and Thomas continued, almost choking. “People still kinda look at me weird, though.”

“How do you feel when you see them staring?”

“Uncomfortable, mostly. They look at me like I have some huge stain on my pants or something, but I know I don’t. It’s like I’m a specimen.”

Newt giggled. “Piss stain.”

Jeff pressed on. “What do you do when that happens?”

“I try to ignore it, but it really gets to me. I kinda feel like they blame me for it. Newt, I mean. But usually Minho gets rid of them or something before it gets too bad.”

“Minho is your friend?”

“Yeah. Best friend.” Thomas almost smiled. “Since elementary school. He introduced me and Newt, actually. The three of us are-” Thomas caught himself, smile disappearing. “-were inseparable.”

“Aw. I miss Minho.” Newt pouted into Thomas’s shoulder.

Jeff talked over Newt, oblivious. “So, Minho’s been pretty central in all of this, right?”

Thomas nodded, fingers twitching.

“It’s good to have someone close to you who’s not family or a doctor to be able to talk to. Do you two talk about what happened?”

Thomas lied. “Yeah. I can tell him anything.”

Newt actually laughed out loud at that.

 

-

 

The rest of the session went by quickly, Newt disappearing as soon as Thomas had gotten into the car with his mom. Thomas actually liked Jeff. Talking to him wasn’t hard at all, and it made Thomas feel bad that he wasn’t giving him the whole truth.

That night, Thomas was sitting up in his room with his laptop again. His notebook had made another appearance, and Thomas was busy filling it with more research. He’d now filled eight pages total, barely any white space left on any of the sheets. It was all very messy and disorganized, but there was a vague grouping system in place.

Thomas had decided that whatever Newt was had to be one of a few things. There were several large headings underlined in black throughout the pages marking these possibilities: hallucination, ghost, angel, dream. They were the only things that Thomas could think of that might explain Newt appearing, and all of them made him squeamish when he thought about them too much.

Hallucination was probably the most likely possibility. But it meant that there was something seriously wrong with his brain, something that Jeff probably couldn’t fix. That was scary.

Ghost was pretty skeptical. Thomas had never been the biggest believer in the supernatural, but hey. His dead boyfriend was showing up every once in a while to make out with him. Anything could be possible. But it was hard to find research on this topic without going on weird ghost hunter blogs. Or ghost facers, whatever. The more Thomas looked for information, the more ridiculous he felt.

Angel wasn’t very believable either. Thomas didn’t believe in the supernatural and angels were firmly inside of that category. Plus all the resources he found were not reliable in the slightest. The heading for angels had the least amount of writing below it.

Then came dream. That one scared Thomas the most. If seeing Newt was really just a vivid dream, he had no way of being sure how much of his life wasn’t even real. The times Newt was with him were indistinguishable from any other time he was “awake” and it was terrifying to think about the maybe-fact that he was really asleep at any given moment.

Thomas shuddered. The last dregs of the afternoon sunlight were slowly turning orange as the sun was pulled toward the horizon, illuminating two bright squares on his floor. Thomas leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath when he heard a quick knock on his door.

“Come in?” A head peaked out from behind the barely opened door and Thomas genuinely smiled. “Hey, Chuck.”

The boy’s curls bounced on his head as he came into Thomas’s room. He spoke, a bit of apprehension in his words. “Hi Thomas.”

“What’s up?” Thomas asked as he gestured for Chuck to come further into the room, watching his brother take a seat on Thomas’s bed. He felt a tiny pang of sadness go through him when he saw how gingerly Chuck moved, clearly feeling a bit weird. It had been that way since the accident.

“Not much. Just finished my math homework. It’s atrocious how much teachers seem to care about fractions. I think they’re awful.” Chuck said, shaking his head.

Thomas actually laughed. He really missed talking to Chuck. “Yeah, if I’m gonna be honest, they’re pretty useless. Better figure them out now, though, cause it only gets harder.”

“Is that what you’re working on now?” Chuck asked, nodding to Thomas’s notebook.

“Oh.” Thomas said, closing it quickly. “No, that’s just some other junk. Hey, wanna do something fun?”

Chuck’s eyes lit up and he forgot all about the notebook. “Like TP-ing Frypan’s house?”

“I was thinking something more like catch.”

“Oh.” Chuck said, sighing heavily with mock disappointment. “I guess I can settle, then.”

Thomas got up and reached over to Chuck, messing up his hair. “Good. Just don’t hit me in the face, alright? These stitches are almost healed.” He went toward the door.

Chuck rolled his eyes, following Thomas. “It’s not _my_ aim that I’m worried about, man.”

Thomas almost snorted. His little brother had just turned thirteen and he almost reminded Thomas of a tiny Minho. Thomas and Chuck had always gotten along great, for siblings, and Thomas was starting to realize how much his little brother meant to him. Ever since the accident, Thomas had gotten into the habit of shutting himself up in his room the moment he got home. It was nice, for a change, to actually be spending some time with his brother.

They played catch out in their front yard until it was so dark they couldn’t see, and for that short time, Thomas felt alright.

 

-

 

The next day at school, Thomas was very close to shitting himself. Minho knew something was up. There was no question about it. Thomas could feel Minho watching him out of the corner of his eye all day, and he knew he was running out of time. He was going to have to do something.

 

At lunch, when they were finally alone, it happened.

 

Minho looked Thomas up and down. “You okay, dude?”

Thomas shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?”

“I’m fine.”

Minho snapped a little.“You’re not fine, Thomas. You’re not fine so don’t try to tell me you are. Newt-” Minho paused, shutting his eyes tight. “Newt’s gone, and you’re grieving. That’s fine, but this is something else. You’re freaking out in the hall for no reason, you’re staring into space for half an hour when nothing’s there. Something’s up, and you’re gonna tell me what it is.”

“I-” Thomas’s eyes flicked over Minho’s shoulder and Minho turned his head to follow Thomas’s gaze into the corner of the hall, now inhabited by one dead blond. 

“What is going _on_?” Minho asked, his voice softening as he turned back to Thomas.

“Look, I-” Thomas blinked hard, trying to focus on Minho. “I can’t tell you right now. But I will.”

“Today.”

 _Fuck,_ Thomas thought. He didn’t dare to open his mouth in case everything came flying out right then and there. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ The word repeated itself in his mind. He thought he’d have more time before he’d have to deal with this. He knew he’d have to deal with this, just not so damn soon. He managed to breathe out an “uhm” before Minho cut him off again.

“After school.” he added.

Something sparked in Thomas’s mind. A way out. “Track?” he asked, not trusting himself to say more than one word per breath.

Minho bit his lip. “After track.” he said. “I’ll drive you to my house and we can talk.” Thomas’s jaw unclenched and he swallowed. Minho softened a bit. “No one will be home, okay?”

“Okay.” Thomas said quietly, looking down at his feet. A moment later he spoke again, voice louder this time. “We should go. It’s-” he glanced at his phone. “-12:10. Don’t wanna be late.”

Minho sighed heavily. “Alright.” he said, turning to head down the hall. “After practice.” he added, giving Thomas a hard look before walking in the opposite direction. Toward Newt.

“Yep.” Thomas muttered to himself, ignoring the growing number of students filling the hall, walking around him oh so carefully, like he was wearing some kind of biohazard suit.  “After practice.”

 

-

 

Afternoon classes passed much quicker than Thomas would have liked. History was his favourite subject but he spent the entire hour and fifteen minutes tapping his pen against his knuckles. Chemistry was no better. The end of the day normally dragged on, but in what seemed like minutes after their conversation at lunch, Thomas was seated up on top of the bleachers outside the track, watching Minho and the team run drills. 

Thomas sighed loudly. It was warm, a bit too warm to be comfortable in jeans. He pulled out his phone, scrolling mindlessly to kill time. It wasn’t very fun watching the practice alone. He usually enjoyed watching the Minho’s practices - there was more to see than just running, and when he got bored of the other events he and Newt could just talk. They would sit together down on the first bench, or sometimes just on the grass. They would always end up laughing until they got weird looks from the team and the coach, for some reason or another. But this time, as Thomas was painfully aware of, was not like that. Thomas was seated up at the very top, avoiding the spot he and Newt had claimed long ago.

Thomas sighed again and put his phone on the bench beside him, looking out to the field.

Thomas had actually tried out to be on the team back in freshman year, with encouragement from Minho. He’d always thought it would be kind of cool to be a runner. The day of the tryouts, however, was also the same day that Thomas found out that he had asthma. He laughed looking back on it now, but at the time it was pretty stressful and embarrassing to be wheezing all over the track in front of the entire team.  He remembered waking up in the hospital and Newt going over to his house afterwards to check on him. Since then, Thomas always carried his inhaler in his bag with him. 

Newt was on the team at one point, too. He was a long distance runner, and a high jumper as well. Thomas could never figure out how Net could get his body over the bar, but he somehow always managed to do it.

It was a different kind of high jump that ended Newt’s track career. After that, he joined Thomas on the sidelines.

There was a shrill whistle blasted across the field and Thomas flinched back into reality. Minho was sprinting down the track. Thomas looked around slowly, scanning the field for any sign of his Newt. So far, he hadn’t made an appearance since lunch. Thomas frowned. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset about the fact that he actually had to check to see if his dead boyfriend was waltzing around the field or that he would shortly have to be explaining that unfortunate necessity. It was confusing and upsetting and Thomas did not want to think about it, no less explain it to Minho, in detail.

Thomas groaned. The track team was starting to disperse, runners and jumpers and throwers all going their separate ways. Minho was looking sweaty in the late-May heat, gripping the straps of his backpack as he headed straight towards Thomas. Thomas exhaled a long, shaky breath. He really wasn’t getting out of this.

“Hey.” Minho said, looking up at Thomas. Thomas grunted some sort of a greeting as he slung his own backpack over his shoulder. Thomas stepped down carefully from the bleachers onto the grass. He and Minho began to walk together in silence, strides perfectly synchronized.

Normally, Thomas would have let Minho ramble on about the practice: the incompetence of the younger athletes, any new times, and of course, the girls that Minho noticed just _fawning_ over him all practice. And normally, Thomas would have laughed and told Minho that they were just staring at him because of how appallingly out of shape he was. Then Minho would have jokingly punched him on the shoulder and Thomas would have shoved him and Newt would have broken it up by placing himself in between the two, getting bumped from side to side.

But this was not the normal circumstance. The space where Newt fit best was just empty air between Thomas and Minho, silent and unfilled.

Thomas’s thoughts were bouncing around in his head, leaving him distracted and overwhelmed. He hadn’t thought of how he would explain it to Minho, even though the time he would have to do so was growing closer and closer with each step.

The hard pavement under his feet brought Thomas out of his daze. “Wait,” he said. His mouth was suddenly devoid of all moisture. “we’re walking, right?” There were a few lone cars littered across the parking lot.

Minho tilted his head. “No.” he said, “I always drive to school. You know that…” he trailed off at the sight of Thomas’s expression. “Oh, fuck.” Thomas’s eyes darted over to Minho and he coughed, blinking hard. “I didn’t-”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Thomas said, giving a shake of the head and a tight smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” he said, decidedly striding over the Minho’s car. He didn’t know why the thought of being in a car was making him so upset now when he’d been fine for the past week on the way to school and to his appointments. He decided to just suck it up and ignore the dread rising in him.

“Alright,” Minho mumbled, huffing a sigh as he unlocked the car, walking over towards it. Thomas was already sliding into the passenger’s seat, slinging his backpack from his shoulder to his lap. 

 

Seven and a half minutes later they were at Minho’s house. Thomas sat cross legged in a high stool, absentmindedly spinning himself back and forth as Minho put two bagels in the toaster. “Cream cheese?” he asked, rifling through the fridge.

“Not hungry.” Thomas said, clearing his throat. His voice didn’t sound nearly as confident as he’d have liked. Hell, screw confident, he would’ve settled for mildly okay.

Minho whirled around, container of cream cheese in hand, his eyes narrowed. Thomas swallowed. There was really no use in trying to hide things from Minho at this point. The truth was going to have to come out, no matter how much it hurt Minho. “I’ll eat. Later. I promise.”

Minho studied Thomas for a moment more before shutting the fridge door with his elbow and setting the cream cheese down on the counter. “More for me.” he said, half talking to himself. The bagels popped from the toaster and Minho grabbed them, lightning-quick, dropping them onto a plate. Thomas watched as he prepared his food in what seemed like slow motion. The silence between them was punctuated by the dull scrapes of the knife on the bagel, each stroke marking another little bit of oxygen being sucked from Thomas’s lungs. The air in the room hung heavy on Thomas’s shoulders, the weight of the past weeks pushing on him from all sides.

Minho slid his plate across the counter and turned his body to face Thomas, taking a huge bite out of one of his bagels. “Okay,” he said, cream cheese smearing on the side of his mouth, “are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Thomas looked down the hall to the front door anxiously. Minho rolled his eyes. “She won’t be home ‘till seven, Thomas. You know that. Now talk.” Thomas bit his lip, staying silent. He looked down, refusing to meet Minho’s gaze. “Thomas.” Minho’s voice softened and Thomas dared to look up.

Minho looked _tired_. His skin was as pale as Thomas had ever seen it and there were dark bags under his eyes. “I-” Minho said, turning away, fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “I miss him too, Thomas.”

Thomas saw Minho’s shoulders slump and instantly, Thomas felt _awfu_ l. He wasn’t the only one that cared about Newt. Minho was Newt’s closest friend after Thomas - Minho had been the one to introduce them to each other in the first place. It was so obvious that Minho was hurting and Thomas had ignored that completely. Left his friend to grieve all alone over the best friend he’ll never see again. Thomas felt his eyes start to burn out of embarrassment for being so _stupid_. All he had cared about was keeping his secret from Minho so he wouldn’t hurt him, but by doing that he ended up hurting him even more. “I-” Thomas managed to choke out the syllable before the tears started flowing down his cheeks.

“Thomas.” Minho said, some of the regular snark starting to return to his voice. “What’s going on with you? You’re randomly smiling at walls in math, which you hate, and now you’re bawling your shuck eyes out. I need you to tell me-”

“I see him, okay?” Thomas yelled, stunning Minho into silence. “I see him. All the time.”

“Thomas-”

“No, Min, I don’t mean that I see him, okay? I don’t just see him when I think of him, or when I’m alone or whatever. I don’t just _see_ him.”

“Thomas, I-”

Thomas held up a hand and Minho stopped. “I don’t just see him, Min.” he repeated. Minho waited in silence for Thomas to continue. “It’s like he’s really there, you know? I talk to him, and he talks to me. I can touch him, I can feel him, for God’s sake - he still smells the same, it’s like he’s really there, he is, he’s there all the time and it doesn’t make sense because he’s supposed to be gone but he’s not and-” Thomas gasped, sucking in a big breath of air. “I - I know it’s wrong, it has to be. But I miss him too much to care, Min. I don’t care and that _scares_ me cause this shouldn’t be happening, it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong-”

Minho moved swiftly, taking Thomas and wrapping him in a hug. “Shh,” he said, cradling the shaking form in his arms. “it’s okay. It’s okay, Thomas. I’ve got you.”

Thomas felt smaller than he’d ever felt before, so puny and helpless. As he sobbed into Minho’s shoulder he wrapped his arms tight around his friend, holding onto him with all the strength he had. Minho shushed Thomas quietly as his short, choppy gasps slowly turned into long, shaky breaths.

After what could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes, Thomas untangled himself from Minho’s arms and exhaled a long breath through his mouth. Minho swallowed thickly, looking on the brink of tears himself.

“So you see him.” he stated simply. 

“Yeah.”

“Like, when you’re taking a klunk or-”

Thomas lifted his hand. “He’s right there.” he said, not one ounce of emotion in his voice. He pointed with a steady finger. “He’s sitting on the counter, looking at you. He hasn’t said anything yet, usually doesn’t unless we’re alone.” Thomas paused, studying Newt’s indecipherable expression. “He’s right there.”

Minho turned slowly, eyes open wide at Thomas before moving to look directly where Newt sat. “I... I don’t-”

“I know you don’t.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Thomas suddenly exhaled a short, humorless laugh and Minho looked at him like he’d grown an extra head. Thomas smirked, meeting Minho’s gaze. “He’s eating your bagel.” he said quietly. Minho looked over at his untouched plate then back at Thomas, whose smile had disappeared as quick as it had appeared.

Thomas looked back up to Minho, who, for the first time in Thomas’s life, looked _scared_. Really, genuinely scared. And another first was that he didn’t have anything to say. No witty remark, no friendly insult or joke. He just looked at Thomas, completely at a loss for words and _afraid_. Thomas looked at Newt, chewing silently, back to Minho, then down at his lap. He spoke again, his voice just barely audible.

“Please help me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhh!!! what's gonna happen now?????? who knows. (i do) anYWAAY as always! feedback (comments/messages/etc) is super appreciated! each comment or message i see makes me smile so much and i love love love hearing from you guys, it gives the motivation to write the next chapter.


	5. just sit back, sit back (and relapse again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! no big warnings for this chapter? just some mentions and descriptions of medications, if that bothers anyone. also some more symptoms of what thomas is experiencing are starting to become more prevalent, so there's a fair amount of thomas being scared and confused and just? not doing well? sadness, angst.
> 
> yea. im awful but alas! here i am. enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **“ _No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear._ ” **  
**― C.S. Lewis**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thomas had to leave Minho’s house shortly after Newt finished eating Minho’s bagel. There was a call from his mom asking him to come home and Thomas left immediately refusing Minho’s offers for a ride home. He was barely able to look his friend in the eye. The entire walk home, Thomas fought off the tears burning in his eyes. He’d done enough crying. Instead, he jammed his fists into his pockets and focused solely on getting home as fast as possible.

It was still pretty early in the evening, so there was a good amount of people out and about as Thomas walked on. With each slap of his feet on the pavement Minho’s last words to him rung in his head: _“We’ll fix this, Thomas. I promise.”_

Thomas didn’t know how Minho was planning on doing that. This wasn’t something that could be fixed with a shit-eating grin or a deadly glare. Thomas knew there was virtually nothing that Minho could do to help, and he was pretty sure that Minho knew that too. It just made him feel worse, for dragging Minho into this mess. Maybe Minho had gone willingly, but Thomas didn’t care. It was _his_ mess, not Minho’s.

By the time he got home, Thomas was angry. It was almost a surprise to feel the rage bubbling up in him; he couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuine anger. His emotions had been quite flat as of late, a muddled pool of fear, confusion, and guilt. But never anger. His surprise did little to curb what he was feeling. It took all that Thomas had inside of him not to destroy everything in sight, not to rip the pictures off his walls and tear apart the books on his shelf. He paced his room aimlessly, fingernails carving deep half moons into his palms. After two minutes of loud thuds from his heels on the hardwood, Newt’s voice stopped Thomas cold. It came from inside Thomas’s own head, loud and clear.

_You’re going to ruin your feet, you big lug. Why don’t you just scream?_

So he did.

 

-

 

Monday came much too fast and Thomas could barely look at Minho sitting next to him in homeroom. Instead, he stared at his hands, folded and shaking in his lap. His fingernails were bitten down as short as possible, cuticles ripped from constant picking - a habit that Thomas had noticed he’d picked up since the accident. It was a habit that Newt had - used to have.

When Thomas looked up, there was something on his desk. He blinked at the pink square of paper that had apparently just appeared. It sat there, unmoving and wholly unthreatening, just waiting for Thomas to turn it over and read whatever was written on it. After staring at it for a second, it registered in Thomas’s mind what exactly it was. A slip for the guidance office. He’d seen them passed out before by teachers at the start of homeroom. They were for when the counsellors wanted to talk with a student, or when a student had wanted to make an appointment to see their counsellor. Out of all his years in middle school and high school, Thomas had never gotten a slip before. He’d seen Mr. Gallarga a few times, but he’d never gotten a slip.

Then a thought popped into Thomas’s head that made his stomach twist.

What if it wasn’t real?

The notion grew more possible the more Thomas thought about it. He hadn’t seen the teacher drop it on his desk, and a quick glance around the room proved that he was the only one with a pink paper in front of him. He was seeing Newt. Who was he to say that Newt was the only thing that just Thomas could see? What else was he seeing that wasn’t really there? A shiver shot up Thomas’s spine as he started to wonder how much of his life since the accident was real and how much was made up. Just as another set of chills made their way through Thomas, a voice ripped him from his thoughts.

“You got a slip?”

Thomas blinked and turned toward the voice. Minho. “Yeah, I guess.” Thomas said, reaching to grab the paper with a quiet sigh of relief. If Minho could see it, it was real. “Probably wanna see how I’m doing with everything. It’s been a week.”

Minho nodded, not so subtly trying to get glance at what the slip said. “What time?” he asked.

“Uh,” Thomas said, squinting down at the paper. It really didn’t make sense how tiny the writing was, and why the paper was such an eyesore of a pink. “Twelve fifty. Halfway through third.”

“Cool.” Minho said. Thomas noted that he sounded off. Weird. Nervous, almost. He almost commented on it but was cut short by the daily earsplitting crack from above, signalling the ancient intercoms stuttering to life for the morning announcements.

As the club meetings of the week were rattled off, Thomas forgot all about the panic of the slip and strangeness of his friend.

 

-

 

By the time twelve fifty rolled around, Thomas was starting to feel like he wanted to strangle Dmitri Mendeleev. Thomas knew that task would prove to be quite hard, seeing as the scientist died in 1907, but Thomas didn’t care. Chemistry just wasn’t his thing. He was infinitely grateful when his teacher gave him the go-ahead to leave after showing her his pink slip. Thomas gathered his books and left the class as quickly as he could without looking desperate, exhaling the stress and confusion of moles and dilutions and formulas in one big breath as he made his way downstairs and towards the guidance offices.

A couple of students milled around in the atrium, laughing and talking as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Or a class. Thomas shook his head, reaching for the door to the office as he looked back at a particularly enthusiastic (read: obnoxious) girl cackling nearby.

When Thomas turned back, the door greeted his face with a _smack._

Pain exploded in his nose and Thomas felt something hot drip onto his arm. His head reeled, bright kaleidoscopes of colours and shapes dancing in front of his eyes. He blinked hard, reaching up to wipe his nose. Opening his eyes again, he saw that his hand was bright red. He stopped, gently patting his face to see if  his stitches had burst from the impact. His fingers came away clean and Thomas felt relief mixing in with the slowly fading pain. _That_ would have been a hassle.

Then there was someone talking to him. “Shit, I am so sorry.” It was a feminine voice, but not a high one. Almost husky, or a little bit strained. Thomas, head still spinning, tried to find the source as they spoke again. “Are you alright?”

Thomas finally looked up to see a girl standing above him. He hadn’t realized he was actually on the ground, but that thought was forgotten when he saw the girl’s face. The first thing Thomas noticed was how pale she was, skin almost as white as a pearl. Her hair was long and dark, swinging down to cover her face as she hovered over Thomas. Thomas had seen her around before, but he was sure that they’d never spoken or even had a class together. Thomas was trying to remember her name when she spoke up again.

“Hey. I said ‘are you alright’?”

Thomas shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” he said, pushing his palm flat on the ground and standing up shakily. He wiped his nose again, blood smearing onto his hand. “Sorry about that, I should’ve been paying attention to where I was going.” Thomas almost laughed but stopped himself, imagining the pain that would surely tear through him if he were to scrunch his nose.

“I’m the one that hit you with the door.” the girl said, a tiny smirk forming on her lips before it disappeared. She looked down at her feet. Thomas noticed her eyelashes were wet, and the light shining from the skylight revealed tracks of salty moisture on her cheeks. Thomas frowned. 

“No, really, it’s okay.” he said. “I’m fine.” Though his voice was light and as reassuring as he could make it, Thomas was clearly not fine. He wobbled as he stood, one hand cupped under his nose to catch the blood steadily dripping from it. Not to mention the dark circles purpling the spaces underneath his eyes, or the nearly healed stitches decorating his body. And the mental stuff was a whole other conversation. But still, Thomas lied again in that perfectly calm ‘I’m fine’ voice. “Really. I am.”

The girl eyes shot up at Thomas before darting down to her feet again. “Okay.” she said quietly, brushing past Thomas as she strode away. Thomas turned to watch her disappear around a corner.

 

After she was gone, Thomas knelt down to gather his things he’d dropped. His chemistry textbook had fallen open to a page about solutions and he winced, remembering that he’d have to catch up on the part of the lesson he would be missing. He closed the book and reached up for the door’s handle once more, pulling it open a safe distance from his face. Stepping into the room, he headed for the box of kleenex that faithfully sat on the first filing cabinet, always there for students like him. Grabbing a few and stuffing them under his still leaky nostril, Thomas took a seat on one of the couches.

As he sat there waiting to be called in for his appointment, Thomas tried to remember the girl’s name. It was so close, just under the surface of his mind, lurking in the shallows of his subconscious. She was obviously upset, for some reason or another, and hitting Thomas in the face surely didn’t do anything to help that. Thomas frowned, mentally going through an alphabetical list of all the names he knew, hoping something would click.

Just as Thomas got to the C’s, the door to Mr. Gallarga’s office opened and the man himself was standing in the frame. “Thomas?” he asked, surprise taking over his face when he saw the bloody kleenex.

Thomas waved, tilting his head comically. “Hi.” he said, standing. “Got in a fight. Pretty nasty.”

Mr. Gallarga smiled. “And I thought I had you pegged as the calm one. Guess I was wrong about you, _hermano._ ”

Thomas shrugged nonchalantly, swiping more tissues as he walked over to Mr. Gallarga. “You should see the other guy.” he said. “Door.” he added after a moment.

“Ah.” was all Mr. Gallarga said. He gestured for Thomas to go into his office, following after the bloody teen and shutting the door.

When Thomas entered the room, there was something there that should not have been there. It both confused the hell out of him and filled him with an urgent dread in the exact same instant.

It was Minho.

He was sitting in the one of the chairs facing Mr. Gallarga’s desk, fingers tapping uneasily on the sides of the chair. He was facing forwards, but Thomas could see him using his peripheral vision to watch him. Even though Thomas could only see a fraction of Minho’s face, he knew exactly what it meant. The lips pressed together in a tight line, the not looking at Thomas head-on. The steady, deep breaths. Thomas could read Minho in less than a second and that was all that Thomas needed to know.

Minho had told Mr. Gallarga _everything._

Thomas started to feel the walls of his throat closing in and his grip on the kleenex loosening. Fear seized him. He wanted Minho to help him, but not like this. Not like this.

Thomas couldn’t speak, not a single word. Mr. Gallarage stepped by him and asked him to take a seat beside Minho, and Thomas complied, numb with fear. Minho still didn’t face Thomas, just silently watching him from the side. It took a second before Thomas realized that Mr. Gallarga was actually talking to him.

“... to my attention that you’ve been dealing with a very serious issue. If what Minho tells me is true-”

Thomas finally found the strength to speak. “Minho, what the _fuck_?” 

Mr. Gallarga fell silent and Minho turned, ever so slowly, to look at Thomas. “You asked me to help you.” his tone was level but there was an underlying hint of anger, something building up.

“This isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Minho asked, voice growing louder.

Thomas struggled to find words. “Not this.”

Minho’s nostrils flared. “What did you want me to do? Ask Newt very politely to leave you alone and go be dead like he’s supposed to be?”

Thomas felt his jaw go slack. He couldn’t believe Minho had said that. “Min…”

“I’m sorry, I just-” Minho stopped, turning to Mr. Gallarga. “Just listen to what he has to say, Thomas.”

Mr. Gallarga nodded at Minho and looked at Thomas. “Have you been seeing Newt?”

Thomas looked down at his lap. He closed his eyes. “Yeah.

Mr. Gallarga exhaled audibly. Thomas bit his lip and looked up at the man.

“But it’s fine, right? I’m fine. It’s not that big of a deal, really, I bet it happens all the time to-”

“You’re not fine!” Minho yelled, gripping the edges of his chair. “You’re not, Thomas! It is a big deal, and it doesn’t happen all the time! This isn’t normal! Can’t you see that we’re trying to help you?”

Thomas didn’t say anything. He knew what Minho was saying was true. But it terrified him right to the core to even think about telling his parents. Or Chuck. Or anyone. Thomas let out a shaky breath. “I know.” he said.

“We only want to help you, Thomas.” It was Mr. Gallarga. His face and tone were solemn. “Grieving can be a really hard process on its own. We’re going to make sure this gets resolved as fast as possible.”

Thomas nodded, staring at the letters engraved into the plaque on Mr. Gallarga’s desk. He felt Minho’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, fingers squeezing in support.

“Mr. G talked to your thera- psychiatrist. They’re gonna put you on some medication to help with the hallucinations.” Minho’s usually steady voice wavered on the last word and Thomas felt like the door had hit him in the face all over again.

Mr. Gallarga cleared his throat. “And we’ve called your parents, they’ve been made aware of the situation.” Thomas winced. His parents had already worked themselves down so much to take care of him, and now there was something else to worry about. Thomas felt tears threatening to fall. This was really happening. A moment later, Mr. Gallarga spoke once more. “You’re going to be alright, _hermano_.”

Thomas nearly smiled. The counsellor always seemed to know just when to be serious and when to bring a conversation back to his normal banter.

Minho squeezed Thomas’s shoulder again and Thomas started to feel a tiny bit better. Through all their years being friends, Minho had proven time and time again how there he was for Thomas. And knowing that Minho would be there through everything that was about to happen - what was already happening - made Thomas start to think that he’d be okay.

It was terrifying to have people know about him seeing Newt, but it was even more terrifying _to be seeing Newt_. Thomas had chosen his terrifying.

 

-

 

That afternoon, Thomas was sitting on the red couch once again, this time with his parents by his side. Jeff had cleared an hour out of his schedule for them upon getting the call from Mr. Gallarga that morning. Since then, Thomas’s tiny blossom of optimism had all but withered. His mom hadn’t stopped sniffling since he got home after school, her eyes red and puffy. His dad seemed a bit more composed, but still obviously upset. Chuck, as far as Thomas knew, had no idea that any of this was going on, and was going to be picked up by Minho at his elementary school in just a few minutes.

Thomas had his legs pulled up close to his chest. This was exactly what he didn’t want happening. His parents having to take time off work _again_ and being even more stressed and scared, and Chuck still in the dark. It was far from ideal and Thomas almost wished he hadn’t told Minho anything. But deep inside he knew it was the right thing. Maybe.

The door creaked open and Thomas looked to see Jeff step inside. Thomas let out a long breath and Jeff spoke. “Hello, Thomas. Allison, Hugh.” he nodded at Thomas’s parents and sat down with his notebook open in his lap. “Thomas, why don’t you tell me about what you’ve been seeing?”

All the moisture in Thomas’s mouth evaporated. “Okay.” he said, his tongue feeling like a big lump of sand moving in his mouth. His eyes darted over to his parents beside him, sitting exactly where Newt was the session before. He swallowed thickly.

“Go on.” Jeff encouraged.

Thomas took a deep breath. “I’ve been seeing Newt.” The sentence was punctuated by a sharp gasp from Thomas’s mother, muffled by her hand pressed to her mouth. Thomas winced, but went on. He knew he had to tell Jeff everything, no matter how hard it was. “At school and at home. And at Minho’s.” he added the last part after a pause. “He… talks to me. But not like weird stuff like some kind of demon or whatever. It’s just Newt. Like he’s really there.” The last sentence got stuck on the lump in his throat and came out all strangled. Thomas coughed and tried to ignore the soft whimpering coming from beside him.

“It’s okay, Thomas, you can keep going.” Jeff said.

“And, he, uh. He touches me. Uh, not like, sexually, but just whatever. He’ll hold my hand, or touch my shoulder. I’ve hugged him. I can actually feel his warmth, his skin.” Thomas’s voice was growing quieter with every word. Shame was pulling on his vocal chords, silencing them in burning embarrassment. Saying it out loud again made Thomas realize how ridiculous it all sounded. And how ridiculous he was for not telling anyone sooner.

“And how long has this been happening?”

Thomas thought about it. The first time he remembered seeing Newt was at the corner of the street on the way home from the hospital. “Since I left the hospital, I think. I saw him standing on the sidewalk when I was in the car.”

Jeff’s hand was flying across the page of his notebook. When Thomas stopped talking he looked up. “And have you been seeing anything else that’s not supposed to be there?”

The lump in Thomas’s throat expanded and fear tingled inside of him. “I don’t know.” he stated simply, trying not to let the tears forming in his eyes show through in his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and took a deep breath before continuing. “That’s what I’m scared of. Like, how much of my life isn’t real, if this isn’t? I don’t know how to tell.”

A sob filled the silence after Thomas’s words and Thomas could have sworn he was three inches tall in that moment. But then a tiny speck of courage bubbled up inside of him and made words start falling off of his tongue again. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, and it scares me. It scares me _a lot_. I know that Newt’s supposed to be gone and he’s not, and I know that this is hurting me and the people I care about so I want it to stop. I want to get medication, or whatever, something to help this.” Thomas stopped to breathe. After a moment the courage had dimmed ever so slightly and his voice grew a little bit smaller. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

Jeff smiled sympathetically. “I’m going to prescribe you medication to help with the hallucinations, and we’ll continue meeting each week to talk about how it’s going.” Thomas nodded and Jeff paused to write more in his notebook. “The medication that I’m going to prescribe you is called haloperidol, or haldol. It’s supposed to help with the positive symptoms of your psychosis - which means things you’re experiencing that aren’t supposed to be happening.”

“Like Newt.” Thomas said. He recognized all of the terms Jeff was using from his own research.

“Like Newt.” Jeff confirmed. “There are some side effects, but nothing too serious. DIzziness, nausea, tiredness. You’re going to start out by taking a one millagram dose three times a day, and we’ll see how that goes.”

“Alright.” Thomas said. The embarrassment and anger and  fear all came rushing out of him in those two syllables. The past three weeks had taken so much of a toll on him emotionally. It was nice not to feel anything for a those brief seconds. His mom’s sobs quieted and Thomas closed his eyes. Things were going to be okay.

A second after Thomas closed his eyes, a voice that wasn’t his spoke inside his head.

_Is this really what you want, Tommy?_

_-_

 

Three weeks had passed quickly since the morning Thomas took his first tablet of haldol. He knew that the medication would take a few weeks to start making a big difference, but he hadn't expected a change so soon. Newt was making appearances much less often. But when he did, it was weird. He would watch Thomas with this angry, seething kind of look from afar.

Thomas got really good at ignoring Newt. In history he would sit on the empty desk in the corner, glaring at Thomas all period. Thomas would just repeat the same phrase in his head, over and over again _. The meds are going to work._ For a while, that did help. But when he started hearing Newt without seeing him, it got a bit harder to ignore. Thomas told Jeff everything, making sure not to leave a single detail out. Thomas was determined to get better. If not for himself, for the people he loved. Minho. Chuck. His parents. He had to keep ignoring Newt, for them.

Still, it wasn’t easy. Some of the symptoms that Jeff had mentioned were hitting Thomas full-force - every time he stood up too fast the entire world spun, and he was constantly exhausted, to the point that he couldn’t stay awake long enough to finish his homework.

That was a problem for a few reasons. Thomas’s crude, horrifying nightmares had returned. Thomas was so terrified of sleeping that he’d taken to drinking coffee throughout the day, something he’d always found disgusting before. He didn’t care about that anymore though, just downed it without so much as a grimace. With his coffee each morning Thomas would take his morning dose of medication. His parents had gotten him a plastic blue case that had compartments for each day of the week to hold his medication. The loud sound of all the the pills crashing together barely phased Thomas anymore, that part of his morning integrated into his daily routine. Each pill - and skittle, an idea Chuck had insisted on, saying that it would help the medicine go down better - was taken with Thomas’s new mantra repeated inside his head. _Do it for them._

 

And he did. Everything Thomas did for those three weeks was for them.

 

But in the late hours of the night, fighting the sleep he knew would come, Thomas was plagued with Newt’s voice. His lilting accent, laced with unfamiliar menace and malice, floated around in his head until Thomas finally gave in to sleep. It whispered awful things to him, things that Newt would never even think of saying. Things that horrified Thomas, right down to the very core of his being.

On the third Wednesday night after starting his medication, Thomas didn’t sleep for one minute. With four cups of coffee and Newt’s voice louder than ever, he sat in his room, paralyzed by fear until the first rays of sunlight filtered through his curtains. When he finally left the cave of his blankets to get ready for an impossible day, Fear had settled deep inside of him. It had unpacked its bags and got its lawn chair out on the grass somewhere deep in Thomas’s stomach. When Thomas went downstairs to an empty kitchen to take his morning pills, it was Fear who reached into the tiny container and took the tablet in its inky purple claws.

  
Then Fear dropped the tablet down the drain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes! yikes. anyone getting nervous??
> 
> as always, feedback is wonderful, tumblr is [here](http://newtmas.tk) and i would love to hear about any theories/questions you guys have!


	6. curtain closing/broken keyboard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are officially halfway done this thing!! how wild. no big triggers here, mentions of medication + hallucinations. enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**“The feeling is less like an ending than just another starting point.”** _

**― Chuck Palahniuk**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gradually, Fear fizzled away. It took its claws out of the holes in Thomas’s heart, packed up its things, folded up the lawn chair. _Bye, Thomas_ , it seemed to say. _You don’t need me anymore._ And this was true. Thomas didn’t need Fear anymore, not to stay awake at night, not to not take his pills for him, not for anything.

Because Thomas was doing all that on his own.

There wasn’t an absence of fear. That was not the case. Fear (capital F) had left Thomas, but its little sibling, fear (lowercase f) was still thriving inside of Thomas. Fear and fear, though practically identical to the naked eye, were two separate things. This is a very important distinction. Fear (capital F) paralyzed Thomas, took over him completely. It led him through the day and night, choking him each moment of his consciousness. Fear (lowercase f), however, made itself more subtle. It was still much like Fear (capital F) in the way that it was rooted deep into Thomas every second of every day. But it was more of a nagging kind of feeling. A constant tinge of dread that coloured the edges of his vision, a barely there reminder of exactly how royally he had, was, and would be fucking up.

With this particular brand of fear (lowercase f), there was a companion that came hand in hand. Something pleasant. The cropping tool to fix things up, to render the fuzzy edges a distant memory of crappier versions.

Newt.

Without the anti-psychotic drugs in Thomas’s system, Newt was starting to appear more and more. But not the malevolent, whisper-awful-things-to-Thomas-in-the-dark Newt. It was Newt Newt. The whisper-sweet-things-to-Thomas-in-the-dark Newt, the ray-of-pure-light Newt. With this the Fear grew less and less, while the fear sat quietly inside Thomas, stirring a thought like _I shouldn’t be doing this again_ or _What would mom and dad and Minho say_ every so often.

But it was never enough.

Newt, however, was. Thomas continued to not take his pills each day and it was as if he’d transported six weeks backward in time. Newt was there, and so was fear, but Thomas didn’t care anymore. The benefits of the former outweighed the consequences of the latter.

 

-

 

It was a regular afternoon. Exams were approaching quickly and Thomas was sitting up in his room, pouring over his chemistry notes. Newt was sitting in his new favourite spot up on Thomas’s desk, legs crossed neatly.

“How’re the elements doing?” Newt asked.

Thomas groaned. “Awful.” he said, putting his head down on his arms.

“Why don’t you take a break and come give me a kiss?”

“Newt. I have to pass this class.”

“One kiss.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, lifting his head from the desk. “Fine.” he said with a smile. He stood from his chair and leaned over his desk toward Newt, closing his eyes.

“Thomas?”

Thomas froze and turned around slowly. Chuck was standing in his doorway, frowning. “Are you talking to someone?” Chuck asked.

“No.” Thomas responded quickly. He turned back to where Newt was sitting - nothing there, unsurprisingly. He grabbed a random book from the space on the desk. “Just getting a book.” he said lamely.

Chuck crossed his arms but his eyes were wide. “Oh, okay.” he said. He reached down into his pocket, pulling out something tiny and green. “You didn’t have your skittle today.”

“Oh,” Thomas said. “I guess I forgot.” Chuck walked over and dropped the skittle in Thomas’s hand without a word. “Thanks, Chuck.”

“No problem.” Chuck said, then turned and left without saying anything, shutting the door  behind him.

Thomas exhaled a long breath and turned back to where Newt had been sitting before. Nothing. Thomas frowned and popped the skittle in his mouth.

 

It didn’t taste that sweet.

 

-

 

The next afternoon, Thomas was seated on the red couch again. 

“I can sense that you’re not telling me something, Thomas.”

“Do you ever feel like there’s more than one way to feel something?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”

“Like, two sides to an emotion, kind of.”

“Are you feeling two sides to one emotion?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Jeff waited for Thomas to continue. He did.

“I’m afraid. All the time. Of everything. But it’s not always the same. It’s like there’s two different… Versions, I guess. Of fear. The first one is like - it makes me feel like I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything. Then the other one, the other fear, it’s there too. It’s smaller, if that makes sense. It’s more of a nagging feeling, more like blurry edges on a picture than the black mark right in the middle. But it’s there enough to notice it being there.”

“Which one are you feeling right now?”

“Smaller fear. That one’s kind of always there, always in the background. It’s been there since the accident, since everything. Like a constant tinge of dread, just barely there. But there.”

“What about the other one?" 

Thomas took a moment before he spoke again. “That’s the one I’m more worried about. It’s mostly at night. I think the haldol is working, ‘cause Newt doesn’t show up as much. And when he does, he’s different. I don’t know how to explain it, but he is. He’s mean. I hear his voice in my head, telling me _awful_ things.”

“And that’s when the feeling kicks in?”

“Yeah. It’s like I’m paralyzed and all I can hear is his voice, whispering how much he hates me, always hated me. I know that it’s not true, that it can’t be true, but it just feels so real.”

“The medication should be working to stop that shortly. It does take around four weeks to start seeing results.”

“I know, but Newt’s already changing. He’s different. That’s why I-” Thomas choked before he could finish his sentence. He couldn’t believe that he’d nearly let everything slip out.

“Why you what?”

“Why I-” Thomas coughed, stalling. “Why I’m trying to just deal with it until it works.” _Dealing with it being not taking the meds at all_ , Thomas added mentally. Shame started to form a lump in his throat. Thomas didn’t feel good about hiding things from Jeff, and he _knew_ that this was a really stupid thing to be hiding from him.

Jeff nodded. “And you’re doing well with remembering to take your medication each day?”

Thomas lied. “Yes.”

 

-

 

Two days and six discarded pills later, Thomas was sitting on the floor in Minho’s room. Books, papers, and highlighters were strewn across the space between the two boys, creating a disastrous picture of disorganized studying panic.

“I’m done with this.” Minho said, shutting a textbook and flinging it behind him carelessly. He groaned. “Tell me, Thomas, when in my life am I ever going to need to know how to do this klunk? When, in my entire life, is it going to be an _absolute necessity_ to find the zeros of a sinusoidal function? When, Thomas, when?”

“You’re telling me.” Thomas said, letting his head fall back onto the side of Minho’s bed. “This is pointless.”

Minho reached out and swept all the books and papers to the side. ”It’s time for a break. And a well-deserved one at that.”

“Dude, we’ve been studying for fifteen minutes.”

“But we were just at school for six hours! We need time to relax, man.” Minho smiled wide, surely congratulating himself on his perfect logic.

“Fair enough.” Thomas said, sighing. He wouldn’t argue against not studying. “What do you wanna do?”

Minho shrugged. “I don’t know. The floor is kinda comfy with all the papers and stuff.” He moved to lie down on the pile of work, shifting his body back and forth to get comfy.

Thomas snorted. Minho was one of a kind, that was for sure. Thomas smiled. “Certain sources say that you struck out with Brenda again today.”

Minho lifted his head to look at Thomas at a normal angle. His face was serious. “Who are your certain sources?” he asked.

“Frypan.” Newt answered. Thomas stiffened, not sure if the voice had come from his head or somewhere in the room. He heard Minho’s bed creak and a weight shift above his head.

“Frypan.” Thomas answered finally.

Minho rolled his eyes, head resting back on the ground. “Frypan.” he grumbled, rolling his head from side to side. “I didn’t strike out. I actually think it went pretty well.”

“Oh, did it now?” Newt asked, and Thomas felt Fear settling in. 

An oblivious Minho continued. “It was after lunch, and she was just there in the hall, walking. So I walk up beside her, and I tell her that she looked cute today. ‘Cause she did, she really did. Anyway, I’m there walking beside her, giving her my best smile after I told her she looked cute, no sass, nothing, and she just stopped, looked at me, and turned around and started walking in the opposite direction!”

“And that’s your definition of ‘pretty well’?” Thomas asked.

“I mean, she didn’t hit me or anything this time. So I’d say that’s an improvement.”

“Very nice.” Thomas said, hearing a golden laughter bubbling up somewhere above and behind him. Newt was up on the bed, for sure.

“We’re getting there.” Minho said, smiling contentedly to himself. “She’ll come around sooner or later.”

“Or later.” Newt chimed in. Thomas almost laughed out loud but stopped himself short.

“Anyway,” Minho said, lifting himself off the floor and back to a sitting position. “how is it going? WIth the meds and everything?”

Newt’s feet hung down beside Thomas’s shoulders. “Oh, it’s going.” he said.

“It’s… going.” Thomas said. Fear was choking him. It whispered to him.   _At least I’m still here and not dead like they want you to think._

“Going?” Minho repeated, clearly expecting a more eloquent response.

Thomas frowned. “It’s going. Why do you care?” The words came out sharper and meaner than Thomas expected.

Minho was taken aback. “Thomas-”

“Sorry, sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” Thomas said, biting his lip. He really had no idea how those words came out of him.

Minho couldn’t say anything, just stared at Thomas.

Thomas shook his head, exhaling. “No, it’s going fine.” he lied. “Newt’s uh, not there as much. It’s going fine.” he lied again.

“That’s good.” Minho said.

“Yeah.” Thomas said. “It’s great.” Each word felt like swallowing acid. He wasn’t sure if it was the Fear weighing down on his chest or the fact that he was lying, again, to his best friend. Lying about something he should really not be lying about. Either way, Thomas couldn’t breathe.

After a second of silence there was a hand clapped down on Thomas’s shoulder, and it wasn’t Minho’s.

“We’re doing just lovely.”

 

If a dead boyfriend by your side and venom in your throat was lovely and all that jazz.

 

-

 

Two days later, the sky came falling down.

 

Thomas sensed it the moment his mom didn’t leave immediately after dropping him off at Jeff’s office. She looked really distraught, like she knew an earthquake was going to strike in the next few seconds. 

Ironically enough, Thomas felt like the ground was falling out from underneath his feet when he stepped into the room with the red couch. In this particular instance, that red couch was full.

“Thomas? Let’s go.” His mom spoke from behind him and put a warm hand on his shoulder, guiding him further into the room. If it wasn’t for that hand on him, he was sure he would’ve collapsed right there. Thomas surveyed the room with a slack jaw. There was Jeff, of course, and Thomas’s dad, Chuck, and Minho. Even Mr. Gallarga was sitting in the corner.

And Newt, of course.

“Guys, what-”

“Sit down, Thomas.” Jeff said. He gestured to Thomas’s usual spot, right in the corner of the couch. Exactly where Newt was. Thomas had no choice but to sit right in the space in between Newt’s crossed legs. He felt the warmth of Newt all around him and Fear took the opportunity to latch onto Thomas, paralyzing him completely.

Thomas’s mom sat beside his dad and cleared her throat. “This is an intervention.” she said, clearly trying to hold back tears.

Thomas looked around. Clearly it was. Jeff looked like he always did, calm and unreadable. His parents had the same pale-faced worry that had been plastered on their faces for the past month. Chuck was staring at Thomas with watery eyes that darted to the floor as soon as Thomas looked his way. Mr. Gallarga resembled Jeff, and Minho wouldn’t even look at Thomas, just like when he and Mr. Gallarga talked to Thomas for the first time. Thomas could see that there was no anger coiled in his posture, just the tiredness in the slump of his shoulders.

“Alright.” Thomas said carefully. He felt Fear pressing on his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. Instantly, his mind went to the worst scenario. _They know. They know everything._ Nobody spoke, and Thomas looked at Jeff expectantly, praying for him to just break the awful silence.

Instead, it was Minho who ended Thomas’s waiting. “You were acting weird again. Jumpy. Irritable. At first I thought it was side effects from your medication, but it was too similar to before.” Thomas looked over to Minho, who was still staring straight ahead. His voice was level. “Then Chuck told me that he saw you throw out one of your pills in the morning.” Chuck sniffled and Thomas glanced over to him. Now he wouldn’t look at Thomas either.

“Then they both came to us.” Thomas’s dad said, squeezing Thomas’s mom’s hand. “And we started seeing the signs again. You weren’t tired anymore, like the medication made you. And you looked scared all the time, like before.”

There was a pause and Thomas was sure the acid churning in his stomach was going to burn a hole through his skin. Jeff looked at Thomas. “Have you been purposefully not taking your medication?”

Thomas’s answer was a whisper. “Yeah.”

The room seemed to exhale and Thomas was glad he was sitting down or else he would have passed out.

“How long has this been happening?” Jeff asked.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas whispered again, trying to remember how to breathe. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Minho finally turn his head to look at him. “I just got so scared. It was getting worse, Newt, I mean. He was getting meaner, and I was hearing his voice all the time and it was just so awful, and I thought if I stopped taking the pills it would be better because before he was never like this, and I-” Thomas’s voice caught in his throat, ending his panicked rambling. He felt himself starting to hyperventilate and tried to focus on not doing that. Saying it out loud made him feel stupid, again, for not telling anyone about his actions.

“It’s alright, Thomas, just take a second.”

Thomas did, but Newt rubbing circles into his back was not helping anything. “Three weeks, I think.” he said, remembering Jeff’s original question. “It was stupid, I know, and-”

“I’m going to strongly suggest a certain plan of action for you to follow so that you don’t relapse again.” Jeff said.

That caught Thomas’s attention. “What do you mean?”

Jeff shifted in his chair. “These people are here because they all care about you very much. And they want to see you get better.” At first Thomas didn’t understand where Jeff was going, but a tiny part of him, a part that Thomas promptly denied and repressed, knew exactly what was happening. “Being here, with all the reminders of Newt, may not be the best place for you, Thomas.”

Thomas stared at Jeff, waiting for him to say it.

“I’m going to suggest that you take some time at a facility that can help and monitor you more than we can here.”

Nothing. Thomas felt nothing at those words. All the Fear and fear, the panic and dread, it was as if it had been sucked from Thomas in less than an instant. Gone, just like that.

“It’s because we love you.” Thomas’s mom said, voice cracking.

Jeff continued. “There’s a private institution that I’ve referred a few of my patients to before, they can have you checked in tonight. I’ve spoken to your parents and everything is set for you to go.”

“Okay.” Thomas said, not sure if everything was registering properly. He was getting sent away.

Minho turned to look at Thomas, confusion showing on his face, then giving way to sadness. Thomas stood up suddenly. “Let’s go.” Nobody moved, they just looked at Thomas with their sad faces, like they were scared by how he was acting. Thomas frowned. “Let’s go!” he repeated, starting to get angry. “You guys want me to get better, right? So let’s go!”

People shifted, standing up slowly. “Alright.” his dad said sadly. Thomas went for the door, the surge of anger dying down, replaced by uncertainty. “I mean, this will make me better, right?”

“The team at W.I.C.K.E.D. are one of the best, Thomas.” Jeff said.

Thomas nodded, biting his lip and ignoring the weird name Jeff had used for the institution. He had other things to worry about. He turned the door handle and stepped out into the empty waiting room, waiting for his family to join him. He repeated his old mantra to himself. _Do it for them. Do it for them._

Minho walked out into the waiting room first, not even hesitating before he wrapped Thomas into a hug. “I’m proud of you.” he whispered. “Don’t leave me alone in this dump for too long, okay?”

Thomas almost laughed and squeezed Minho tighter. “Okay.”

By the time they were done hugging, the rest of Thomas’s family were in the waiting room with him. Thomas hugged Chuck next, telling him that he would be back soon, that he would be alright. He thanked Mr. Gallarga and Jeff, and before he knew it, Thomas was sitting in the back seat of his car, parents up front and driving Thomas away from everything he ever knew.

 

-

 

Two hours into the drive, Thomas was starting to seriously regret his decision. It had been so abrupt that he didn’t know what he was thinking. One second, he was about to klunk his pants. The next, he was some emotionless droid, ready to ship himself off to some mental ward. A part of Thomas knew that the quick change in behavior was probably due to his illness, but he was still freaked out by his own behaviour.

 

Twenty minutes after the sun set, Thomas’s dad pulled off onto a side road surrounded by trees. Within a kilometre, the road opened up a bit wider and the trees grew sparser to reveal a modest parking lot in front of a huge stone building. There were five words fastened to the side of the building in big black letters:

 

**W.I.C.K.E.D. INSTITUTION FOR MENTAL HEALTH**

 

“It’s really called W.I.C.K.E.D.?” Thomas asked.

“I’m sure it’s an acronym.” Thomas’s mom said.

“For what?”

Nobody answered Thomas as they pulled into a parking spot. Thomas stepped out of the car and blinked up at the sky. There were more stars than he’d ever seen and the moon was nowhere in sight. Everything around him was cast in an eerie white glow, bathed in the light of the stars. Thomas leaned against the side of the car, staring up at the milky way.

“Gosh, you really can’t see anything out here.” Thomas’s dad said, flicking on the flashlight on his phone. “There you are.” he said, shining it right at Thomas.

“Here I am.” he said, rubbing his eyes. When he opened them again there were no more stars. He sighed, squinting back at the huge stone building. “Well, let’s go.”

Thomas’s parents smiled sadly and the three of them started toward the entrance of the building. Thomas felt weird, knowing that he potentially wouldn’t be seeing the outside of this building for a really long time. He didn’t even have an overnight bag, or anything really. Just himself and clothes he knew would be taken away. In what seemed like was only a few seconds they were already at the big doors to the entrance. Thomas took one last look at the stars before entering the building and wondering when he would ever see the night sky again.

Inside the building, they were instantly met with bright light and people in lab coats walking by, either unaware of or uninterested by Thomas’s arrival. There was a man sitting at the desk directly in front of where Thomas and his parents stood with a sign marked “CHECK INS AND VISITORS”. The man noticed Thomas and smiled.

“Hi. Checking in or visiting?” he said.

Thomas coughed, walking up to the desk. “Uh, checking in.”

“Alright.” the man said, grabbing some papers from under the desk and handing them to Thomas. “You’ll need to fill out these, and when you’re done, give them to me and we’ll have one of our doctors do a primary examination.

Thomas nodded, heading toward where his parents were seated. He started filling in basic information about himself, from his age to what doctor referred him. After a minute he was done and got up to hand the papers to the man at the desk.

“Thank you.” he said, straightening them out and putting them on a clipboard. “Now you can just follow me-”

“Wait.” Thomas said. He looked back at his parents. “Is this it?”

The man smiled at Thomas then glanced to where his parents were sitting. “Yes. You can say goodbye now.”

Thomas’s mom stood up, bottom lip trembling already. “We love you.” she said. She pulled Thomas into a hug and his dad stood as well, clearly trying to hold back his own tears.

“You’ll be just fine.” he said, his turn to hug Thomas.

Thomas forgot what words were so he just smiled instead, nodding at his parents with butterflies stirring up in his gut. He turned to leave with the man from the desk, following him down a long corridor as he looked back at his parents disappearing around the first corner.

As they walked down another endless hallway, Desk Man chattered away. “Just wanted to say, good for you for checking yourself in. A lot of kids your age get really scared when they come here, crying the whole time. But you seem to be handling this really well.”

“Thanks.” Thomas said, trying to get a look into any of the rooms through the tiny windows on the doors.

“Are you a repeater?" 

Thomas tilted his head. “Uh, no?”

Desk Man looked surprised. “First timer? Wow, calmest one I’ve ever seen. It’s funny, actually, had a girl just a few days ago like you. Checked herself in, no fuss or anything.” Thomas hummed thoughtfully and the man kept on talking. “Looked kind of like you, actually. Same hair. Oh, looks like we’re here.” he stopped abruptly, Thomas almost walking right into him. “You can hang out in here until the doctor comes to talk to you. After that, we’ll get you set up with a room and everything.”

Thomas thanked him and stepped into the room, a tiny white square with a plain cot and a few chairs. A second after he closed the door, it opened again and a tall woman holding the clipboard Thomas had seen Desk Man with. Thomas was about to ask if she was the doctor - she looked really young - but the woman spoke first.

“Hi, Thomas. I’m going to be waiting here with you until Doctor Asha gets here.”

“Okay.” Thomas said, not sure why he couldn’t just wait there alone, why he had to be monitored. Thomas sat in silence as the woman flipped through his papers, reading all about Thomas’s private personal problems. It irked him a little bit, but Thomas was coming to realize that his personal problems weren’t so private anymore and he was going to have to just deal with that fact.

About eight minutes of staring at the corner of the room later, the door opened again and a large man walked in. The woman - nurse, probably - handed the clipboard to who Thomas could only presume was Doctor Asha and left without a word.

“Hello, Thomas. I’m Doctor Asha. You can call me Clint, if you’d like.”

Thomas gave a tiny wave and Clint started leafing through the pages on the clipboard.

“Everything looks to be in order here. Now, Thomas, tell me why you’re here.” Thomas tilted his head in confusion. Clint had literally _just_ read all of his papers detailing exactly that. Clint laughed. “I’ll never get tired of that look.” he said, then put the clipboard down on an empty chair. “That thing tells me why you’re here, medically, but I want to know _why_ you’re here. Tell me what’s happened to lead up to this.”

Thomas blinked. _Oh._ He sighed, the words flowing out of him mechanically, almost like a set script he was programmed to say. “My boyfriend and I were in a car accident, and he died. Since then, I’ve been seeing - hallucinating - him everywhere. I was put on haldol and it was starting to work but then I stopped taking it because I was scared, and my psychiatrist and family decided it would be best for me to come here.” He spoke in a flat tone, no intonation whatsoever. He’d grown so used to explaining himself and his situation that it was starting to get boring.

Clint looked impressed at Thomas’s apparent calmness. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be meeting with you again in the morning after you get the tour. It’s pretty late now, so I won’t keep you longer than just a few minutes. I’ll need to take your vitals and a few other things like that.”

 

After taking Thomas’s blood pressure and asking a few more questions, Clint left the room and the woman came back in. “I’ll show you to your room for the night.” she said. Thomas followed her wordlessly as they wove down another set of hallways. In less than a minute Thomas was completely sure that he’d never be able to navigate the facility by himself; everything looked exactly the same, stark white and utterly plain. He was wondering if they did that on purpose just to confuse people when they got to a big set of metal doors.

“Just in here is where the patients stay, beyond that is the common areas and the rooms where you’ll be meeting with different doctors. Before we go in there I’ll have to examine you for anything dangerous, and you’ll have to change your clothes.” she led Thomas into another examination room right beside the big doors. She had him empty his pockets and strip down to his boxers to make sure he didn’t have anything he could harm himself with. Then Thomas had to change into a set of grey linen pants and a top, both as gender-neutral and as drab as they could possibly be.

With his new attire, Thomas was taken through the metal doors and down another hallway. Here, things were a bit easier to distinguish. Halfway down the third hall, the nurse stopped and swiped a key card through a slot in one of the doors. “This is where you’ll be sleeping for tonight, it’s likely that after things are sorted out tomorrow you’ll be moved to a different room with another patient.” Thomas stepped into the room slowly, instantly noticing the annoying buzz of the fluorescent lights bolted above. The room was bare, everything either as white as the first set of hallways or as grey as Thomas’s new outfit. There wasn’t much more than a bed, which was casually bolted to the ground. The nurse spoke again. “Wake up will be at seven thirty, so try to get some sleep. You have a long day ahead of you.” And with that the door was shut, leaving Thomas alone in the small space. 

He sat down on the single bed, looking at the bare walls. His new home. It was a lot to process, and Thomas started to feel the realization of it all creeping up on him. Maybe he was just in shock before, or didn’t know what he was actually getting himself into. But whether he liked it or not, it was done. The decision had been made for him and he was going to have to get better if he wanted a chance at having a normal life again.

Thomas surveyed the small room, almost expecting to see Newt sitting somewhere, staring at him. He almost felt a little sad when there was no blond boy in sight, and a pang of loneliness went through Thomas as he realized something even more scary than the fact that he was now living in a mental ward.

 

His whole life, Newt had always been there for Thomas. Always. Through every adversary, every obstacle, Newt had helped Thomas through it. And Thomas did the same for Newt. They were each other’s rocks, each other’s support systems. But now, in the most terrifying time of Thomas’s life, Newt couldn’t be there. He _was_ there, but he wasn’t supposed to be. He couldn’t be, if Thomas ever wanted to see the outside of these white and grey walls ever again.

He would have to get through this without the support of the boy he loved, and that was the most terrifying thing Thomas could think of.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man?? im looking forward to next week, a couple new characters will be introduced + revisiting something (someone?) mentioned a little while ago... comments really keep me going, they make my day and help me have the motivation to write the next chapter for you guys! tumblr is [here](http://newtmas.tk) as always!


	7. act two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its saturday again! feels like so long since last week. no huge trigger warnings in here, just some more medication stuff and as always! some hallucination and Angsty stuff. this is kind of shorter than the last few chapters, but that wont be the case for the next few. enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**“Un-winged and naked, sorrow surrenders its crown to a throne called grace.”** _

**― Aberjhani**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seven thirty came much earlier than Thomas would have liked.

There was a loud knock on his door and a voice saying his name, pulling him out of the haziness of his half-sleep. Before Thomas could blink the crusty bits out of his eyes, the door was opened and bright light came flooding in. “Morning, Thomas. Time for the tour.” It was a man speaking, standing in the doorway.

Thomas groaned and rolled over, sitting up. “Tour.” he grunted, rubbing his face.

“Yes, the tour. It’s important that we get this done nice and early so you can meet with some doctors today.”

Thomas woke up a little bit more at that. Doctors. Right. He nearly snorted as he remembered where he was. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, head spinning from the sudden movement. “Shit.” he said under his breath.

“Alright, let’s get goin’.” the man said. Thomas looked up at him, short with dark skin and a bit of a mean-looking face. If Thomas wasn’t still groggy from the sleep he would have made a face at the man, but instead he just planted his feet on the ground and stood. Looking down, he realized that he’d fallen asleep in the day clothes the nurse had given him the night before. There was no sight of  change of clothes anywhere so Thomas shrugged, turning to face the man in his door. “Oh look, now you’re all nice and ready. Let’s get goin’, greenie.”

Thomas was sure he’d never heard _that_ before. “What’s a greenie?” he asked.

The man ignored Thomas. “Name’s Alby.” He turned to exit the room, looking back to give Thomas a stern look that meant _follow me_. “And no questions ‘till the end.” He started out into the hall, glancing back to make sure Thomas did the same.

Thomas stepped into the hall slowly. It looked the same as it did the night before, with the same white halls lit up by the same dull fluorescent lights. This time, however, there were a few other people milling about - some that looked to be about Thomas’s age, some a bit younger - ambling down the hall. They all stared at Thomas like he was the newest attraction at the circus freakshow. Thomas’s hands started to feel clammy with beads of sweat, and his breathing started to quicken.

Alby’s voice caught his attention. “Come on, there’s a lot to go through.”

Thomas nodded hesitantly and tore his eyes away from the sickly pale boy down the hall, walking beside Alby. Alby took a deep breath and started talking again, tone infinitesimally  less annoyed than before. “Check yourself in?” Thomas nodded and Alby hummed as they turned the first corner. “Well, welcome to W.I.C.K.E.D., kid.”

The tour continued and Alby chattered on, voice suggesting that the act of showing Thomas around was of great inconvenience to him.

“Down here is the nurse’s station. Every morning after the wake-up, you’ll have to come here to get your morning meds, or not. Depends on what the doctors put you on.”

The hall split into a four-way intersection, a smallish space enclosed in thick windows with openings at the bottom. There was a lineup starting at the center window that stretched down the hall to the right, a few dozen teenagers standing around with defeat in their shoulders, all wearing the same grey outfit Thomas had on. Most of them turned to stare, eyes burning holes in Thomas’s back as he and Alby went down the opposite hall.

Alby seemed to sense Thomas’s acute discomfort. “Don’t worry, it’s just cause you’re the greenie. In a few days they won’t even give ya a second glance.”

“What’s a green-”

“I said no questions.”

Thomas opened his mouth but shut it after a second. There really didn’t seem to be a point in arguing with this guy. They continued on in silence until they reached a set of metal doors similar to the ones Thomas had seen before. Thomas wondered if they were the _same_ doors, but that was unlikely. Everything looked the same. Thomas couldn’t remember how to get back to the nurse’s station, let alone his room. Alby swiped a key card into a slot and the doors unlocked with a _click_ , Alby pushing them open to reveal a huge cafeteria room. There were tables, lined up in neat rows.

Alby stopped, letting Thomas take in the whole scene. “This is the cafeteria. You eat three meals a day, plus snacks. If you don’t eat, you’ll get a tube. So I would suggest that you eat your meals no fuss.” he said.

Thomas’s face screwed up in horror. _A tube?_ That sounded nothing short of awful. Thomas nodded as he looked around at the people - patients - drifting into the room for breakfast.  “No fuss.” Thomas said and Alby started to move again, directly across the big room.

After they had crossed the room and were out the doors, Alby led Thomas to another intersection of halls, this one much more open. Alby pointed to an open doorway with no door. “In there’s the common area.” he said. You can spend free time in there. Not much to do, but there’s a TV. Most patients just hang around and socialize.” Thomas strained to see inside the room. He could see that it was actually quite spacious, but that might have had something to do with the fact that there was next to nothing inside it, in terms of furniture. Alby noticed Thomas staring and rolled his eyes. “Enough gawking. It’s a room. Let’s go.” he said, moving along down another hall.

Thomas was starting to get tired of all these damn halls.

“Down here has a few of the offices with doctors and other people you’ll be meeting with. A couple of the rooms-” Alby pointed to a door on the left as they passed by it “-like that one - those are group rooms. You’re gonna have to go to group about twice a day.” he said.

Thomas assumed he was talking about group therapy sessions and imagined a bunch of chairs arranged in a circle, filled with kids like the ones he’d seen in the hall and the cafeteria. Not the most enthusing idea. Then Thomas imagined Newt perched in one of those chairs. That thought was a bit more enthusing, in the sense that it enthused Thomas’s panic reflex. He took a breath and forced the thought out of his mind.

When they reached the end of that hall, Alby stopped, looked at his watch, and turned back toward the direction they’d just come from. Thomas paused, taking a peek down the next hall, identical to all the others but still unexplored. There was set of doors at the very end of one side that looked different than the others, like a german shepherd in a line of teacup chihuahuas. “What’s down there?” Thomas asked, feet drifting toward the doors.

“What did I say about asking questions?” Alby said, no effort made to conceal the lack of patience in his voice. Thomas huffed a short breath and tore his eyes away from the strange doors, following Alby as he started his way back, shaking his head. “We’re moving you into a different room, with a roommate. He’s about your age.” Alby said.

Thomas begun to imagine (at the same time noting that he’d been doing a lot of imagining as of late) what kind of person he might have for a roommate when something at the very end of the hall caught his eye.

A person. Standing.

Thomas almost stopped, but he didn’t. Instead, he shut his eyes tight and prayed to all the gods he didn’t even believe in that when he opened them again, they would be gone. That _he_ would be gone. Thomas didn’t grant himself the luxury of convincing himself it was just a random patient or nurse, because he knew it wasn’t.

When he opened his eyes, the end of the hall was empty again.

When he opened his eyes, Alby had also stopped walking and was side-eyeing Thomas very carefully. “This will be your new room.” he said, still looking at Thomas with that funny look. He opened it and Thomas looked inside. It was almost identical to his other room, but a bit wider, with another bed that was neatly made and pushed up against the opposite side of the room. Alby shut the door and Thomas noticed a little plaque adorned on it. It read ‘ _A2_ ’ and nothing else.

Alby glanced at his watch again. “They’ll be finishing up breakfast right about now, so I’ll take you down and you can have what’s left. Then you’ll be talking to a social worker, then a few doctors. Got it?”

“Got it.” Thomas said and Alby turned and started walking without a word. He did that a lot, Thomas noted. As they walked toward the cafeteria, Thomas noticed that the plaques were on each door, different letters and numbers on each one. He wondered how he hadn’t seen them before - he was _sure_ that all the doors he’d seen were just plain white, no plaques or letters or numbers.

There was a voice. “Seems like you’re losing it, Tommy.”

 

-

 

After a monitored and unsurprisingly underwhelming breakfast of toast, eggs, and orange juice, Thomas was led back down to the hall with what Alby said were doctor’s offices. He met with a social worker and answered questions about his family and home life, as well as his friends and school.

Thomas was starting to think he should just write out a script.

Next was the head psychiatrist, a nice looking lady with grey-blonde hair. Thomas stared at the tiny name tag on her coat ( _Dr. Ava Paige, head of Psychiatry_ ) as he recited the script again. Friends, boyfriend, dead boyfriend, dead but not really dead boyfriend. Medication, no medication, hospital. Thomas could have presented the speech to his english class without a single cue card or stumbling of words. Throughout the recount of the last two months of his life Dr. Paige seemed unfazed where others paled, which was a nice change of pace. She did have Thomas talk a bit more in depth about what happened when he started his medication, then when he didn’t take it. At the end of two hours, Thomas was in desperate need of a glass of water and Dr. Paige decided to change his medication plan.

He’d be taken of haloperidol and put onto ziprasidone, another long string of letters that meant nothing to Thomas but a pill to make Newt go away.

“And that will make Newt go away?” Thomas knew that was the whole point, but he needed to be sure.

Dr. Paige smiled. “Yes, Thomas. Newt won’t be bothering you anymore after a week or two.”

Thomas wasn’t sure how to feel about the little pang of sadness that went through him.

 

-

 

In the afternoon Thomas found himself sitting in a circle of grey chairs.

A man that resembled a rat was seated directly across from Thomas, clipboard in hand. “We have someone new with us today - Thomas, why don’t you introduce yourself to the group?”

All the eyes in the room were trained on Thomas. “Uh, I’m Thomas.” he said, earning a few giggles around the circle.

“Anything else?” the Ratman said.

The first tendrils of Fear started working their way into Thomas’s chest. “No.” Another wave of giggles flowed through the room.

“That’s fine, Thomas.” the Ratman said, smile on his face but disdain showing clear through the thin wrap of fake cheeriness. “At group, it’s encouraged to share, but not-”

“Sorry I’m late.”

Heads turned toward the voice, Thomas’s included. Walking into the room, looking entirely flustered and partially annoyed, there was a girl with long dark hair and milky white skin.

It was her. The girl from school.

When she locked eyes with Thomas, shock was plastered onto her face. Then the shock melted into confusion. She stopped for a second, just staring at Thomas. “I… I, uh, my session with Dr. Paige ran late. Sorry.” she said, shaking her head and sitting down in the empty chair near the Ratman and promptly staring at the ground.

“That’s your second late, Teresa. One more and you’ll have to be put on probation.” the Ratman _tsk_ ed her and Thomas let go of the breath he’d apparently been holding. _Teresa._

She started picking at her cuticles, ripping the skin. “It won’t happen again.”

“Wonderful.” the Ratman said, fake brightness returning to his voice. It was almost condescending. “Does anyone have anything they’d like to share about their morning?”

Somebody spoke up but Thomas couldn’t have listened if he’d tried. He looked at the girl - Teresa - and a million questions raced through his mind at once, the main one quite predictably being _why was she here_?  She wouldn’t look at Thomas no matter how many telepathic signals he tried (and failed, obviously) to send her. It was clear that she was most likely freaking out internally. As another patient shared the details of their morning, Thomas started to wonder if he should be freaking out that she knew _he_ was there. Strangely, though, he wasn’t.

After an hour of not listening to people talk about their problems, Thomas’s leg started bouncing.

After another twenty minutes, heavy sighs fell from his lips like stones in a pond.

“Thomas, is there something you’d like to share?”

Thomas froze. He looked up at the Ratman, his rodent-like face screwed up in a gross little self-satisfied smirk. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Teresa’s head move up. “Uh, no.” he said.

The Ratman exhaled a miniscule laugh - no, a snicker - and cleared his throat. “Alright. Well, this concludes our session for today, thank you all for sharing.” he said, still staring straight at Thomas. He felt frozen in his chair, held down by the Ratman’s gaze. Chairs squeaked as people got up and started to filter toward the door. Teresa stood and Thomas snapped out of his daze.

Teresa walked by Thomas and toward the door in a way that could only be described as vigorously. Thomas didn’t know how anyone could possibly walk in a vigourous manner, but Teresa had just done it.

Thomas lept up. “Hey!” he half-yelled, ignoring the heads turning toward him. Teresa picked up her pace, turning left past the door. “Hey!” Thomas repeated.

They were both in the hallway when Teresa halted and whirled around. “What?” she said, more fear showing through her voice than on her face. Thomas got distracted by the faint freckles scattered on the bridge of her nose. “What?” she said again, anger starting to cloud over the fear.

Thomas blinked. “I, uh.” he realized he didn’t actually know what he wanted to say. “Hi.”

Teresa stared at him. “Hi.” She was smiling as if Thomas was a very large child but her cuticles were still being torn apart.

“Look, I, uh. I’m sorry if me being here made you, uh, uncomfortable.” Thomas said.

Teresa opened her mouth to speak but closed it. “Thanks.” she finally said. “I mean, I guess we’re both, uh, here.” she added, looking down. Thomas nearly asked her why she was there, but bit the question back. Teresa spoke again. “So, see you around?”

Thomas looked up. He’d been expecting her to tell him in no uncertain terms to never speak to her again. He’d expected her to turn around and walk (maybe even vigorously) in the other direction. He’d expected to feel the tiny fizzle of shame as any chance of being able to get to know Teresa bled from the sharpness of her words.

Instead, there was a tiny warmth in his chest and the feeling of a new friendship beginning sprouting in his lungs. The first inkling of positivity in almost two entire months of constant pain, guilt, and confusion.

Thomas smiled. “Sure.”

 

-

 

Time passes quickly when you’re herded from appointment to meal to group to appointment. 

It had been a week since Thomas’s first full day at W.I.C.K.E.D. and he was starting to get settled into the routine. It was a bizarre kind of balance. Either he was sitting around - with Teresa, usually - bored out of his mind, or moving from room to room for meals and meetings. It was two ends of the spectrum and there didn’t seem to be any in-between in the foreseeable future. The days blurred together and by the end of the first week, Thomas felt like he’d been there for much longer than he had.

 

Teresa was a big help in terms of that. After one hour in the common area talking with her, Thomas felt like he knew everything about every other teen there.

“That’s Sonya.” Teresa said the afternoon after Thomas’s first day, pointing out a pale girl with a long blonde braid. “She got here a week before me.” Thomas calculated in his head - a week and a half before him. Teresa continued, lowering her voice. “She’s kind of quiet, except for when Harriet’s around. I think they’re gonna end up together, eventually.” As if her words were some kind of cue, a pretty girl with dark skin stepped into the room, looking around until her eyes landed on the blonde. Her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

Thomas exhaled a one-syllable laugh. “You’re good.” he said, sinking farther into the bean bag chair he and Teresa were sharing. “Oh, hey. What about him?” Thomas asked, nodding towards the tree of a boy sitting at one of the tables, alone.

“Gally?”

“Yeah. He’s my roommate.”

Teresa turned to look at Thomas. “Really? Has he said anything to you?”

Thomas shrugged. “He said, ‘Rise and shine, greenie’ this morning - but I think he was joking. It sounded a little threatening.”

Teresa bit her lip. “That sounds about right.” she said, looking back at Gally. He looked eternally pissed. “He’s a bit of a loner. I’ve never spoken to him, but I always see him picking fights, especially with the greenies. You better watch out.”

Thomas huffed an exasperated sigh. “Why does everyone keep calling me that? What does it even mean?”

“It’s like, uh. Newbie, I guess? I’m not entirely sure.”

It made enough sense to Thomas, but it still sounded strange to his ears. “Well, it’s weird. I don’t like it. And I’m not sure if I like him.” Thomas said, turning back to look at the boy.

He was no longer alone at his table.

Thomas clenched his teeth tight, trying to focus on the pressure and pain in his jaw.

It wasn’t enough.

 

-

 

On the third day, Thomas and Teresa exchanged stories. It was, apparently, pretty common practice for all the patients to know the exact details of everyone else’s mental issues. Between group and free time, there weren’t a lot of secrets kept to one’s self.

Thomas was surprised to find out that Teresa had checked herself into the hospital because of the increasing severity of her depression. He didn’t know what he expected, because he really didn’t know her at all. But it still came as a bit of a shock. He was impressed, though. She had been the one to seek out help for herself when things got bad, and she was the one that made the decision for her to stay there until things got manageable. Thomas couldn’t believe how rational and mature she was about her entire situation, while he was just a mess in comparison.

Teresa’s hand was over her mouth for the duration of Thomas’s hundredth reciting of his script and no words found their way from her brain to her tongue afterwards.

“It’s fine.” Thomas had said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Nobody ever knows what to say.”

 

-

 

By the sixth day, Thomas and Teresa were strangely inseparable. Maybe it was the connection they both had to home, or maybe they both just needed a friend. Whatever it was, the unlikely pair had quickly become that - a pair. A duo. Meals were eaten together (along with some of the other kids, of course, notably Sonya and Harriet, along with a boy named George) and free time was spent in each other’s company more often than not. Sometimes they talked about their illnesses, sometimes they talked about stuff back home, and sometimes they talked about the other patients, or even the staff. ( _Janson? Insufferable._ ) Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. But it was nice for them to be able to have the other to lean on. 

There was one thing that came with this particular arrangement.

As with many duos or pairs, there is often another party involved. A third wheel. The presence in behind when there’s not enough room for three people on the sidewalk.

Yes, you got it.

 

Naturally, Newt was jealous. Thomas could tell. The medication was still in it’s early stages of making it’s way into Thomas’s body, Thomas knew that, he did. So, as it would go, Newt was still making his daily appearances. Plural. He there often, and it was this _thereness_ that made Thomas still feel quite uncomfortable in the W.I.C.K.E.D. facilities despite it being the place where he should be recovering, and getting better, and moving on, and all that good stuff.

So, Newt was there. He rarely spoke to Thomas when others were around - especially not with Teresa there - and therefore he didn’t really talk because Thomas was almost never alone. There was a lot of glaring, though. No shortage of frowns or crossed arms or tapping feet. Occasionally, there would be the snide remark, or even him trying to answer for Thomas in a conversation.

Thomas did his best to ignore all of it. And that did help, to some degree. Newt usually stuck around longer when Thomas engaged him. It wasn’t easy, though, turning away from the face he’d grown to love so much.

Teresa did her best to listen to Thomas and distract him when needed. He told the doctors everything: every hallucination, every encounter, every thought. It was really tiring to relay every moment back to Dr. Paige twice every day, but Thomas knew it was only to help himself get better. And he did want to get better. After that first week was over, Thomas had learned a lot from Dr. Paige in terms of coping and being able to talk about his feelings. She’d even helped him let go of some of the guilt he felt about the accident.

 

After seven days had passed, Thomas allowed a tiny part of himself to believe that he might almost be getting better.

_  
Almost. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh! how's everyone feeling so far?? hopefully nothing's too confusing as of right now, i know i threw a lot of new info and characters at you guys this chapter. let me know what you thought, maybe? tumblr [here](http://newtmas.tk) as always, have a good week everyone!


	8. sun vs seed: fucked up style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is super short and i feel bad so i decided to post a little one shot in the totl-verse for you guys, its actually fluffy (surprise! i _can_ write fluff, sometimes) and set two years before totl begins so! check that out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4802516) if you like because this chapter is not as long as i would've liked and i feel! bad :/ that being said enjoy?

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**“We also knew that it was in the nature of an empty** _

_**stomach to produce illusions of grandeur.”** _

**― Khushwant Singh**

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Thomas comes out of sleep in a yellow haze. Everything is bathed in the warmest, most golden light Thomas has ever seen. He doesn’t know why Newt decided that cream curtains would ever be a good idea, considering the ungodly amount of light that gets into the room as soon as the sun peeks over the horizon. But right now, the sunlight on Thomas’s bare back is the closest thing to heaven he’s ever felt. There’s one strip of warmth that’s heavier than the others - Newt’s arm, no doubt. The legs tangled with his own, the hair tickling his nose, the soft breaths on his shoulder - everything is Newt. And it’s warm, and it’s perfect._

_Everything is absolutely perfect._

_Thomas is floating in the bliss of half-sleep when something shifts. Soft, fluffy tufts of hair drag on his skin and he inhales a sleepy chuckle._

_“Good morning.” Newt says._

_The corners of Thomas’s lips creep upwards and his eyes crinkle like the folds of an accordion._

_“Good morning.”_

_A pair of lips press themselves to Thomas’s cheek and the bed creaks as Newt shifts._

_Thomas sighs pure bliss. “We should do something today.” he suggests._

_Newt kisses Thomas again, soft lips on soft cheeks. “Or,” he breathed, “we could not do something today.”_

_Thomas smiles and he knows he would be perfectly fine doing just that. That he would be perfectly fine doing anything, as long as it was with Newt._

_“Alright.” Thomas says, smile almost audible._

_“Alright.” Newt parrots Thomas and the brunet closes his eyes, savouring the purity and perfection of every moment. He sighs again, and this time it’s love._

  


His eyes shot open to darkness.

Everything was foreign. Thomas didn’t know if he was in his own coffin or in a cave and time was lost completely.

But there was one thing he knew.

“Newt?” It was a whisper.

“I’m here.” Another whisper and Thomas felt relief flooding into him, washing away the panic. A hand gently combed through Thomas’s hair. “I’m here.” Newt repeated.

Thomas didn’t question a moment of it.

“Newt.” he said, the only word his tongue was able to form. He felt the warmth of the blond on him and something ached in his chest. It had been so _long_ since Thomas had felt Newt’s warmth, his skin on his own. Centuries had passed since his voice reached Thomas’s ears. It was eons ago that Thomas last felt the weight of Newt’s love grounding him.

And oh, how Thomas missed the feeling of that.

Thomas’s words were an exhale. “I miss you.”

“I know, love, I know.” Newt’s arms snaked their way around Thomas’s waist as he whispered. “I’m here now, Tommy. I won’t leave again.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say so he just nodded into Newt’s skin. Even in the darkness he knew his nose was pressed to the freckle just under Newt’s jawline. They laid there in the pitch black room for what seemed like an eternity, molded to each other. It was silent except for their steady breaths, rising and falling in perfect synchronisation.

It was perfect.

 

Until it wasn’t.

There was a grumble on the other side of the room and a chilling realization shot through Thomas’s spine.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

 

Thomas’s resolve to stay awake was no match for the sleepy warmth of Newt’s arms around him. But when morning came, Newt was gone and Thomas felt an ache in his chest so profound that he could have sworn his body was falling apart.

After the wake up the race to the nurse’s station began. Everyone always wanted their meds early so they could get on with their day, Thomas included, but this time he stayed back a bit, eyes sweeping through the bodies for a familiar head.

Thomas sucked in a breath of courage. “Newt?” he breathed. It was a tiny whisper of desperation, a quiet plea for the past. For the present.

It was weakness that spoke.

And it was Newt that answered.

 

-

 

Two days was all it took for Thomas to forget everything he knew was right. All of the recovery, the getting better, the moving on. All gone.

Instead, there was Newt. There wasn’t guilt, and there wasn’t Fear. Just Newt.

Lies made an appearance too, as well as loneliness. But those come a little bit later.

 

-

 

Much to Thomas’s surprise and joy, a discovery was made. A public phone, apparently available for him to use. When Teresa mentioned it ever so casually in conversation one morning, Thomas felt as if he’d been cheated for a whole week.

He could call his family.

And he did, of course. Time flew by Thomas when he was on that phone. It was never enough, truly. Talking to his mom and dad and Chuck was like finding a bottle of water in the middle of the desert. He really didn’t realize just how much he missed them until their voices crackled through the old phone from hours away.

His parents were both doing well, and missing him, of course. The house was too empty without Thomas, according to them. Chuck was about to finish his last year of elementary school and it felt like a bowling ball to the stomach when Thomas realized that he’d be missing his little brother’s very first graduation ceremony. Chuck didn’t seem to mind, though, because when it was his turn on the phone he showed no signs of sadness in his voice. He rambled on to Thomas about random little things that had happened since he’d left - things nobody else would care to notice but to Chuck were fascinating. Thomas could have listened to him talk all day. One thing Chuck told Thomas filled him with a strange mixture of pride and sadness.

Minho had been walking Chuck home from school every single day. At the mention of his friend’s name Thomas instantly felt a pang of loneliness that hung onto him for the rest of the day and Thomas resolved to call Minho as soon as he possibly could.

 

That afternoon after group, Thomas was on his way to the phone, ready to dial one of the only cell numbers he bothered to remember outside of the ones belonging to his immediate family. But before he could reach the little booth, Newt had taken his hand and dragged Thomas over to one of the few couches in the main common area.

“Lunch looked like klunk today.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re not the one that had to eat it.”

“Well, I’m dead, remember?” Newt gave Thomas a toothy smile and he wondered if that statement should bother him at all.

Thomas just shrugged, moving his arm around Newt’s shoulders and letting the blond settle into his chest. _This is nice_ , Thomas thought.

“This is nice.” Newt said not one second after Thomas thought the words himself. “I just hope that girl - what’s her name? I hope she doesn’t show up.”

Thomas’s face faltered just a bit. Newt had shown quite a bit of animosity towards Teresa and consequently Thomas had barely seen any of her in the past two days. He tried to push the thought aside. 

As if it was some sort of cue, Teresa entered the room at that moment. Her eyebrows were pulled together and her lips turned down in a frown. Then she spotted Thomas and her expression softened instantly as she made her way toward him. Thomas sat up a little, trying to sit normally. Newt held on a little bit tighter.

“Hey!” Teresa said, letting herself fall onto the couch with a little bounce. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever. Weird, considering where we are.”

“Yeah, wish it was longer.” Newt almost growled.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ve had more appointments for some reason.” he lied.

“Huh.” Teresa said. “Well, it’s been pretty boring without you, Tom.”

Thomas smiled at the nickname Teresa had taken to calling him.

“Really couldn’t say the same for you.” Newt scoffed. His breathing was getting angrier.

Teresa’s lips curled into a smile. “I have some news.” she said.

Newt clicked his tongue.

“News?” Thomas asked.

Teresa’s smile grew even bigger. She waited a beat before she blurted it out. “They said I might be going home soon!”

“Oh, thank god.”

Thomas felt a prick of annoyance and frowned.

“Tom?” Teresa’s voice sounded sad.

Thomas’s head snapped up. “That’s amazing!” he said with excitement he couldn’t quite feel.

Teresa’s smile returned, cautious. “Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot better. Dr. Paige says it probably helps that I have you.” Her happiness _beamed i_ nto Thomas.

Thomas could _feel_ Newt’s eyes rolling. “Well, isn’t that just a right-”

Thomas exhaled a sharp breath of anger. “Would you stop that?” he almost yelled, much louder than he intended. Teresa almost shot backwards, the hurt dripping from every pore on her face. Her eyes were wide and glassy with shocked tears. Thomas put a hand to his mouth. “No, not you, Teresa, I swear-”

“I’ll go.” she said, across the room before Thomas could form a single word. Thomas ignored the handful of faces not so subtly staring at him and turned to Newt.

He wasn’t there, naturally.

 

-

 

“How are you feeling about Newt today?” Dr Paige asked. It was a daily question.

“I miss him.” Thomas said. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Newt hadn’t returned since he’d upset Teresa and Thomas was ashamed at how much he wanted the blond to come back.

“That’s to be expected, still.” Dr. Paige said it as if it was the most obvious fact in the world.

Thomas blew out a long breath. “Even after all this time? Shouldn’t I have moved on, at least a little bit?”

Dr. Paige shook her head. “Not necessarily. Your situation is a unique one, Thomas.” Thomas raised an eyebrow and Dr. Paige continued. “Answer me this, Thomas. Did you ever feel like you got closure after Newt’s death?”

Thomas tried not to laugh.

“May I suggest something that might help you find some of this closure?”

“Sure.” Thomas said.

“You could hold a funeral.”

Thomas wasn’t sure if the woman was serious or not, but her face didn’t change. “Oh.” Thomas said. “I guess I could do that.” he lied again. _I am not doing that,_ he thought.

Dr. Paige looked pleased. “I think it would help more than you might think, Thomas.”

Thomas just nodded.

 

That night, Newt came back.

When he came back, there was no trace of his earlier discord, or any kind of irritation.

Just Newt.

So, naturally, he and Thomas spent the night making out as silently as they could on Thomas’s tiny white bed. If there was any way for Thomas to keep track of the time, he would have lost it within minutes. They lay there for what seemed like hours in the dark. There was no rush, no hungry, groping hands. It was all soft touches and slow kisses, like a lazy Sunday morning personified between their two bodies intertwined. They didn’t speak; they didn’t have to. Easy, crawling touches were all they needed to know exactly what the other was saying.

Any lingering doubt or unease was ebbed away by Newt’s soft lips on Thomas’s own.

They lay there in the dark until sleep came and took them into its clutches.

 

-

 

The next few days progressed in a similar fashion. Newt was there, constantly. A shadow at Thomas’s heels, or a little puppy nipping at his ankles (or in this case, his collarbones). Teresa continued to _not_ be there, either avoiding Thomas like he was the victim of an awful mite infestation or, perhaps, sent home. Thomas couldn’t be sure because every time he went to seek her out, Newt had him go with him somewhere else. Do something else. Watch something else.

It was always something else.

Teresa, in hindsight, was one of the only things that kept a tiny seed of doubt growing deep in Thomas’s throat. Without Teresa, Newt, after the fourth day, was virtually all that Thomas had, in some sick, twisted way. But he was all Thomas ever had, and that alone was enough to pull him back in each and every time.

The lies continued flowing as well. To his doctors, his parents. Even Minho couldn’t escape the thrashing wave of Thomas’s dishonesty. One night, when Newt was surprisingly off somewhere else, Thomas _needed_ to hear Minho’s voice. So he called, and nearly hung up as soon as his friend was on the line. He didn’t though. Couldn’t. Figured he owed it to Minho to be there, even if he wasn’t actually there.

These were the tiny droplets of water that nurtured the aforementioned seed residing in the walls of Thomas’s trachea. And slowly, it was growing.

But Newt was the sun and Thomas’s throat couldn’t help but go dry when the boy’s smile was made out of pure sunshine.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that was so short and shitty??? these next chapter have a lot coming in them though, so don't worry. cant wait fot you guys to find out what happens!! feedback always appreciated my friends B)


	9. [who is in] control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I FIXED THE FORMATTING CAUSE EVERYTHNIG WAS RLLY FAR APART AND IT LOOKS WEIRD AND BAD and i feel rlly gross that its inconsistent now but im gonna go back and fix the other chapters at some point... anyway welcome back to hell i hope u enjoy ur stay this chapter is a fun time with no big warnings so??? yea!

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**“I know sweetness** _

_**You’ve been carrying those bones** _

_**For a long time.”** _

** \- D.T Krushnic **

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thomas could feel a presence in the room before he even opened his eyes. Not Gally - he was there too, but there was something that felt closer. More awake. There was a particular heaviness to the darkness underneath Thomas’s eyelids, one that could only be from the weight of someone staring at him as he slept. That was, in a word, creepy. Each second that Thomas considered the possible truth of the idea, the more he felt like bugs were crawling on his skin.

One eyelid creaked open.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Newt was leaning on the wall, arms crossed and smile on his face. The corners of Thomas’s lips dipped minutely.

“Were you-” he started, glancing over to Gally’s still sleeping form. He lowered his voice. “Were you watching me sleep?” Thomas half-whispered, something feeling vaguely not right deep inside of him.

Newt shrugged. “You’re cute when you sleep.”

Thomas tried to will his frown away. “That’s kind of creepy.” he commented.

Newt shrugged again and Thomas blinked. The increasing level of discomfort he felt had nothing to do with his bed.

Thomas inhaled. “Look, I-”

A groan stopped him short. He turned his head and saw Gally rolling over, rubbing at his face. “Dead boyfriend spend the night again?” he yawned into the words, a tiny bit of humor present in his voice.

Thomas couldn’t stop his jaw from going slack. It was a rare occasion that Gally ever made an effort to communicate with Thomas in any form, and when he did it was generally grunts or glares or harsh orders to _move_ or _shut up_. Gally almost appeared to be smiling, crooked teeth jutting over each other as his lips pulled themselves into something resembling amusement. He raised his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah.” Thomas replied finally, the question mark at the end of his statement almost visible.

Gally hummed and Thomas looked back at Newt almost instinctively like, _what the fuck is going on_. It was one of those looks that the two could give each other and they would both know exactly what the other was thinking. Thomas and Newt shared one of these moments then, silently contemplating the weird mountain of a boy across the room.

It was then that the sick irony of the situation hit Thomas, and god, was it fucking hilarious.

There he was, sitting in a psychiatric ward, feeling weirded out by the weird angry-all-the-time kid who was giggling - _giggling_ \- about Thomas’s own dead boyfriend and his apparent presence in their shared room. All the while he decided to express this weirded-out-ness by sharing a classic _alright then_ look with that very same dead boyfriend.

Incredible, truly.

Thomas started laughing. It bubbled up from deep in his stomach (coming from the same neighborhood as Fear, probably. Maybe they were neighbors, even) and broke through the seal of his lips as a snorty giggle. The darkness of the humor was not lost on Thomas and his laughter grew louder and louder until he heard Gally’s raspy breaths joining his own. Even Newt let out a sunshiney giggle.

Thomas tried to speak but couldn’t.

“Man,” Gally gasped, face completely red. “You are so fucked up.” he fell into another fit of laughter and Thomas joined in again, struggling to breathe. Maybe his brain cells were starved for oxygen, but Thomas was suddenly finding his entire _situation_ absolutely comical.

“I mean,” Thomas finally said, “who talks to their dead boyfriend? Or their dead anything?”

Gally threw his hands up in the air. “You, apparently!”

Thomas let his head fall back. He wasn’t sure if he was even awake or not; the past two minutes of his life so bizarre and out of place. All of a sudden Gally was just bright and chipper, and Thomas was talking about Newt like he wasn’t even there - that felt really, really weird.

But then again, so did everything.

“Is he here right now?” Gally asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

Thomas nodded once, then again, more enthusiastically. He turned to where Newt still stood, expression now less than impressed. Thomas smiled at him. “Newt, meet Gally. Gally, meet Newt.” Thomas gestured widely between Gally and the open air.

Gally made a sound low in his throat that resembled a happy kind of choking.

“Hi, Newt.” he said, waving at the wall.

Newt closed his eyes, shoulders moving up as he inhaled and lowering slowly as he pushed the air out of his lungs. Thomas stopped laughing. Then Newt’s eyes opened and animosity came pouring out of his mouth.

“Do you really think I want to speak to your _friend_ after he just spent the last five minutes bloody losing himself over the idea of me, _Thomas_?” Gally’s laughter fizzled out and Thomas could almost feel his face paling. He almost shriveled as Newt went on. “All you’ve been doing this past while is tellin’ people how much you buggin’ don’t want me here. You’ve gotten pretty good at that, haven’t you?” Thomas shrunk even more. The room was silent, tension thicker than the lump in Thomas’s throat, nearly suffocating him. Nobody moved.

Three seconds later, the metal door clicked open and a head popped inside. It was Alby. “Hey, time for morning meds. Get goin’.” he said, looking pointedly at Gally then Thomas before heading down the hall.

Gally turned to Thomas, slowly. “Are you-” he trailed off, Thomas not listening anyway. Gally knew the answer already.

 

- 

 

After morning medication was distributed, everyone made their way toward the cafeteria. The shuffle was noticeably more bleak and uninspired than usual, a note that Thomas thought was fitting, considering his mood. What Newt had said that morning had left him in a weird mood. He was hurt, obviously, from Newt thinking he didn’t care. There was also confusion, a tiny prick of uncertainty from the way Newt spoke to him. It was almost… Not Newt. Out of character Newt. Thomas had seen Newt at his very worst and he never got that mean. But there was something else. The tiny nagging feeling he’d been repressing for months, the one that was telling him that Newt wasn’t really there. Thinking about it made him feel hazy, like his thoughts had a thin screen of fog over them.

Weird, really.

Sitting at their usual - well, old usual - table was Sonya, Harriet, George, and of course, Teresa. Thomas stopped in the wide doorway and she looked up, then immediately down again, staring at her scrambled eggs. Thomas took a breath and started walking.

“Hey.” he said quietly, sliding onto the end of the bench.

Teresa looked up, almost scared. She moved her head so fast that her long hair swung into the eggs, ketchup coating the the dark tips. “Ew.” she mumbled in disgust, eyes shooting down from Thomas to her hair.

Thomas held back a laugh. “Here.” he said, handing her a napkin from the table.

“Thanks.” Teresa said. A tiny chuckle leaked out of Thomas and Teresa stopped, looking up. “Don’t laugh at me.” she said, trying to be serious but failing. A second later they were both giggling. Teresa threw the ketchup-filled napkin at Thomas and it bounced off his nose, landing back in the eggs. They laughed louder.

“Why am I mad at you again?” Teresa asked once their laughter died, still smiling.

Thomas felt a mixture of relief and shame wash over him and he wondered why it always had to be a mixture. “Because I was a dick.” he said.

Teresa nodded thoughtfully. “Oh yeah.” she said, picking at an orange slice. “You were a dick.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Thomas said, recalling how rude he was - or, sounded like. Technically, he wasn’t talking to Teresa when he’d freaked her out. Still, she didn’t know that, and Thomas knew she deserved an explanation. “I, uh. It was Newt. I wasn’t yelling at you.”

Teresa put the orange slice down. “Shit.” she said.

Thomas gave a small smile. “Yeah.” he said. _Shit_ was indeed right. They sat in silence for a moment. “So, uh, sorry about yelling at you. Well, not you, but - yeah.”

“It’s fine.” Teresa said, and something in her eyes told Thomas that it really was.

“And I think it’s really great that they’re letting you go home soon.” Thomas added. He’d almost forgotten about her news.

Teresa let out a short, one-syllable laugh. “Yeah, that’s been put on hold. They’re keeping me here a little bit longer.

“Oh.” Thomas said. As he watched Teresa’s bitter smile turn into a sad one, he realized that he was probably the reason for it. He _really_ hurt Teresa. “Sorry.” he said quietly.

Teresa sighed. “It’s okay.” she said, perking up again. She took a sip of her orange juice. “How’s Newt?” she asked.

It was Thomas’s turn to laugh. “How come you talk about him as if he’s real?” he asked, stuttering over the words.

Teresa didn’t miss a beat. “He’s real to you.”

A pause. “I think I might be starting to doubt that.”

“Why is that?”

There was another pause as Thomas played with the words in his head. They came stumbling out of his mouth like a toddler in heels. “He’s not… Newt. He’s different, somehow. I can’t explain it.”

“Try.”

“He’s meaner. He was always a bit snippy, you know? And kind of impatient. More so when he was in a bad mood. But never like this.” Thomas frowned. “He yelled at me this morning.”

“What did he say?”

“He was mad because Gally and I were laughing.” Thomas stopped for a second. “Oh. Yeah, that was weird. Gally woke up and asked me if I was talking to my dead boyfriend, and we started laughing. Then Newt said that I was acting like I hated him and didn’t want him anymore, and then he left.”

Teresa’s eyes widened and she stayed silent until a minute later. “You should tell Ava.” she said.

“Dr. Paige?” Thomas asked.

Teresa’s eyebrows pulled together slightly. “Yeah. She tells me to call her Ava.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, you should tell her. They can help you get better, Thomas.”

 _To move on._ Thomas finished her thought in his head. He knew she wanted to say it but wouldn’t. He bit his lip. Did he even want to get better? To move on? There was a time - it seemed so far away now - that he did. Now, his stomach twitched even at the thought of it.

It was like Teresa could read his mind. “I think you’re afraid to get better.” Thomas looked up and she continued almost hesitantly. “I think… You’re afraid to be without Newt, but you’re also afraid to be with him like this because you know it’s not right.”

Thomas struggled for words. “Yeah.” he said simply.

“I know I’m not Ava - Dr. Paige, whatever - but I think that you should try.” There were so many unspoken words at the end of her sentence but Thomas knew exactly what she was saying. He should try, really, to let go. To move on. To get better. Thomas was pretty sure that he was running from the idea of recovery, subconsciously or not.

“Thanks.” Thomas said, grabbing the apple off of Teresa’s tray and standing, giving her an earnest smile before he spun around toward the door.

He was tired of running.

 

-

 

Thomas was in the process of psyching himself up.

He was, as just mentioned, tired of running, but the only thing his body wanted to do that morning was run. Not in the metaphorical sense but literal. His leg, no matter how many times Thomas tried to stop it, would not stop bouncing during morning group. He was restless and jumpy, and had he had a watch or a phone he would have been counting down the minutes until his afternoon session with Dr. Paige.

He was going to tell her. After talking with Teresa, he had to. Somewhere deep in his gut he knew it was the right thing to do. Somewhere less deep in his gut, he knew that Newt would be fuming, but he chose to ignore that, a voice in his head (not Newt’s, thank god) telling him that it wasn’t _really_ Newt. So Thomas clung to that distant yelling and hoped for the best. The best being, of course, Newt not showing up before his appointment to screw it all up and make Thomas fall in love with him all over again, like he seemed to do every fucking time Thomas looked at him.

Luckily, the odds seemed to be favoring Thomas that afternoon. Even during free time, Newt hadn’t made an appearance. That may have been partially due to the fact that Teresa was distracting him, chattering away about whatever came to mind in order to keep Thomas’s thoughts away from Newt. It worked, and at the end of two hours consisting solely of wide blue eyes and dusty nose freckles, Thomas was sitting in Dr. Paige’s office, waiting for the woman’s arrival.

After three minutes of waiting, the door clicked open. “Hello, Thomas.”

Thomas inhaled deeply and exhaled the longest run-on sentence ever spoken. “Hi. I’ve been psyching myself up to say something for the whole day and if I don’t say it now I don’t think I’ll say it at all and I need to say it so is it okay if we skip the usual starting stuff for today and just get right into it?”

Dr. Paige sat down and folded her hands under her chin. “Go ahead.”

This was it. Thomas took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

The voice came from behind. “I thought you cared about me.”

Thomas coughed on whatever words he was about to say and turned around. “I- I do.” he said instead.

Newt’s eyes were glassy with tears. “If you tell her, I’ll be gone. For good. You know that, right?”

Thomas couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move.

Newt’s bottom lip started to tremble. “You said we were in this together, Tommy. You promised me you wouldn’t leave.” His voice croaked with tears, accent thicker than usual. Thomas almost stopped breathing.

“Thomas?” It was Dr. Paige.

Newt hiccuped. “You promised me.”

“Is Newt here now?”

Newt shook his head slowly, chest twitching with each breath. _Don’t you bloody do it._

“Thomas.”

Thomas sucked in a breath of air and shut his eyes tight. For them, he said to himself, pictures of Minho and his family flashing through his mind. And Teresa. For them, he repeated, easing his eyes open to an utterly betrayed-looking Newt.

Thomas turned around. He looked at Dr. Paige and nodded.

 

-

 

“Hi, I’m Thomas. I have hallucinations of my dead boyfriend.”

It seemed ridiculous to say out loud, but it was apparently supposed to make him more able to accept the truth of it.

Apparently.

Thomas thought that was mostly bullshit, but he said it anyway. The faces in the circle around him were half blank and half scared-looking, all nodding thoughtfully. Except for Teresa, of course. Naturally, she was beaming. Thomas was sure she’d say she was proud of him once the group session was over. He figured it kind of was something to be proud of. Actually speaking in group, no less about himself and his problems. It didn’t take a lot of brains to see that Thomas preferred to internalize his own issues. As Dr. Paige would say, it’s a step.

The Ratman (Janson, Thomas had learned) urged him on. “Go on, Thomas.”

Thomas ran through the script. “He died when we got in a car accident, and I got PTSD - well, first it was an acute stress reaction, then PTSD - and then I started seeing him. At first it was scary, but then I missed him and it wasn’t scary anymore. It was more scary to think that I would have to be without him. So I stopped taking my meds and eventually my brother found out, and he told my best friend who told my parents who told my psychiatrist, who put me here.”

The group all gave their nods and grunts of acknowledgement. Thomas shrunk a bit and the Ratman spoke up, spewing some crap about group healing, which ostensibly included the other patients discussing Thomas and his issues. Constructively, of course.

Sonya spoke up first. “I think that Thomas is brave to come here. It’s hard to be without the person you love.” she said, and Thomas quirked his head. He wasn’t _without_ Newt, technically, but he got what she was trying to say. He smiled in thanks.

A boy Thomas didn’t know the name of was second. “Yeah, it might be hard, but he’s the one who stopped taking his meds. It’s kind of his fault this is still happening, right?”

The Ratman coughed. “Ben, that’s-”

“He’s here now, though.” Teresa’s voice was loud, with a razor sharp edge. “And he’s getting the help he needs. I’m sure you didn’t come here voluntarily, did you, you-”

“That’s enough, Teresa.” It was the Ratman again. “How about we move on to another topic of discussion? Does anyone…”

The rest of his sentence was lost in Thomas’s mind. He felt a mixture (again with the mixtures) of proudness and anger. Proudness because, well, he did it. He took a step. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted it, but he was on his way to recovery. There was a particular proudness in that itself, too. The anger was a little more muted, but still there. That Ben kid was really fucking rude, and that made Thomas angry. But what really bugged him was the truth in the boy’s words. It truly was Thomas’s fault that he was there. He was the one that stopped taking his meds. And he was also the one that killed Newt.

But surely enough, once the session was over, Teresa went right for Thomas and wrapped him in a massive hug, whispering “I’m proud of you,” in his ear. Thomas felt happiness filling up inside of him as Teresa squeezed him tighter and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Thomas actually believed he may be getting better.

Not everyone agreed.

After Teresa was gone and Thomas was alone in the hall, Newt’s voice came as a harsh whisper. “I thought we were getting better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO i hope u guys liked this one!! next week is a Big chapter so! get ready kids! as alwaaaayys ur comments Make My Day and my tumblr is located [right here](http://newtmas.tk) my pals so! come have a chat. see yall next saturday


	10. two-fifty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saturday again!!! hopefully you guys enjoyed last week, we are coming to an end very soon!!! no big triggers for this chapter but there is one tiny mention of suicidal tendencies so uh yeah!! without further ado, i present this week's dose of Suffering

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**"My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,** _

_**or else my heart concealing it will break."** _

** — William Shakespeare **

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of the aspects of living in a psychiatric ward, as Thomas had quickly noted, was that it was really boring. Sure, there were lots of appointments and doctors to talk to and feelings to write about and exercises to complete. But when it wasn’t any of that, it wasn’t much at all. Especially around bedtime.

Everyone had to be in their rooms by 10:00, then the doors were locked for the night around 10:30. Usually, Thomas came in around 10:15 and collapsed on his bed, completely out in an instant.

It was 10:26 and Thomas still wasn’t asleep. He felt like there was a wire going through him, buzzing with electrical current. side effect! Thomas rationalized his restlessness, figuring it was the new increased dose of his medication (although that probably wasn’t the case, seeing as his first increased dose had been taken only five days prior). It probably had something more to do with the up and down of his emotions in the past few days: high up in the clouds laughing with Gally, then immediately into the ground when Newt snapped at him. Talking to Teresa again, then finally telling Dr. Paige about Newt and talking in group. Getting more medication and seeing Newt less, and talking more to Dr. Paige about everything. All of it left Thomas overwhelmed and awake.

It was 10:28 and Thomas knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a very, very long time.

At 10:29, Thomas remembered something Sonya had mentioned once at lunch.

At 10:30, Thomas opened his door into a nurse.

“Hey!” the nurse said, all narrowed eyes and accusing lips.

Thomas took his hands off the door. “Sorry, I-”

“What are you doing?”

Thomas blinked and prayed Sonya was telling the truth. “I can’t sleep. I wanted to see if they could, uh, give me something for that.”

The nurse narrowed their eyes even more (which Thomas was surprised to see was possible) and crossed their arms. “Look-”

“I have hallucinations.” Thomas said suddenly. He peered past the nurse and down the hall. “My dead boyfriend. He, uhm-”

“Fine. Come with me.” Thomas followed the nurse down the long hall, this time actually knowing where he was going.

When they got to the first intersection of hallways, Thomas heard the screaming.

The nurse immediately stopped, hand out in front of Thomas, fingers tensed. One second later, two nurses and one burly looking man went rushing right past Thomas and the nurse, not even seeming to notice them as they flew by. When they were gone, the nurse started walking again without a word. Thomas followed, a chill shooting up his spine.

 

A minute later they had arrived at the nurses station, Thomas’s escort speaking quickly to the woman behind the glass. She looked at Thomas then at her computer, fingernails clicking away on the keys. Then she produced a tiny cup from underneath the counter, handing it to the nurse.

“Here.” they said, handing the cup to Thomas. He looked inside and took the pill, white and oval-shaped, swallowing it in one gulp. The nurse sighed an “Alright,” and started leading Thomas back to his room.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a normal night at W.I.C.K.E.D. without an appearance from a (now approaching hostile) Newt.

He came with a whisper after the third corner. “Is this really what you want, Tommy?” Thomas ignored him. He continued. “You really wanna sleep me away like the rest of them did? Like Minho did? Think about this, you’ll never see me again if you let them do this to you.”

Thomas stepped into his room, the nurse shutting and locking the door behind him. Gally snored softly.

“You’ve got a lot of bloody nerve, Tommy.”

Thomas bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood and waited for sleep.

 

-

 

The next day, Thomas had an hour and a half carved out of his morning to meet with Dr. Paige. Since he’d told her everything, Dr. Paige had increased the dosage of his medication, which would hopefully get rid of Thomas’s hallucinations - of Newt. It hadn’t even been a week so there was no noticeable difference in the frequency of Newt’s visits. There had been, however, a difference in his behavior.

 

It was a predictable and particularly exhausting pattern.

There were two different ways he broke Thomas down. The first way was a bit more tolerable and a bit easier to ignore. Usually it was when Thomas was in the cafeteria, or the common room. Newt would hang around, looking at Thomas from a distance. There would be this shy kind of look on his face, like he was afraid that Thomas would see him staring. Thomas would ignore him, and then Newt’s coyness would dissolve into something in the same family as disgust, lips turned down and nostrils just barely flaring. Thomas would take a deep breath and turn away, and that was usually it.

It was the second circumstance that made his heart ache.

It happened more so when Thomas was alone. Newt would sit there in front of Thomas, or, maybe behind him, or off to the side, and he would just stare at him. His eyes would be full of love and adoration, of pride in knowing that Thomas was his. There would be that smile on his face - Thomas knew the exact one, the one when Newt was really, truly happy - and Newt would just look at him, not saying anything.

It was like not a single thing had changed.

That was, of course, until Thomas turned away or shut his eyes tight, digging his nails into his palms in an attempt to remember that it was _everything_ that had changed.

Then Newt would get _mean._

His eyebrows would knit together, deep wrinkles creasing his forehead. A dimple would form on his chin, lips barely parting to show the slightest glimpse of teeth. His arms would cross and his weight would shift onto his bad leg.

“I miss the old you,” he would say, not one ounce of nostalgia in his voice. “you know, back in the good old days, when you weren’t trying to get rid of me all the time.”

Thomas would try to think of something else, anything else.

Newt would continue. “It’s pretty selfish of you, considering, you know, my problems.”

Thomas would go to see Teresa, or down to the nurse’s station to get something so he could sleep, all with Newt breathing abuse into his ear.

“I didn’t think there was a single living thing who could make me feel any buggin’ worse than I already do myself, but I think you’re pretty well taking the bloody award, Tommy.”

It would continue and Thomas would feel numb, letting it it all hit him in a white wave of disconnect. Apathy - that was a word that suited him well.

 

Thomas told all of this to Dr. Paige. He appreciated her constant calm - it was a refreshing change from the normal horror his symptoms were usually met with. People would notice his agitation and his glances, and they would recoil a bit, everyone watching him with a careful concentration that indicated they were ready to flee the second Thomas started screaming and flailing (which he never did, thankfully, but it always seemed like that was the expectation for a patient with hallucinations). Even Teresa had a hard time concealing her emotions when she and Thomas talked about Newt. Her face wasn’t one of horror but more sadness. Thomas didn’t know which reaction made him more uneasy.

The only one that didn’t set his nerves off was evidently Dr. Paige. She was almost inhuman about it all, her demeanor not wavering once. Thomas was thankful for her near indifference, making up for her lack of emotion with an overdose of his own, muddled and mixed and monstrously messed up.

 

Six minutes into their morning session, Dr. Paige surprised Thomas. “Tell me about the accident again.”

Her request caught Thomas off guard and he realized that he hadn’t actually thought about the actual accident for a long time. His nightmares had stopped a long time ago, and without the endless triggers of home, the accident seemed like it happened ages ago. Thomas tried to remember the exact details of what happened. “It was a Friday. The end of April. We were at the party at Winston’s, out in the country, kind of. It was forty minutes from home. We left around 2:00, and, I was, uh, driving-” Thomas’s voice broke on the last word and he stopped, taking a deep breath. Dr. Paige gave him a small smile as if to say, _go on._ “I was driving us because Newt had been drinking, and I hadn’t. It was really dark and we were the only ones on the road.” _Until the truck came_ , he added mentally.

“And then what happened?”

“And then we were singing to the radio and then there was a really bright light and then just… Nothing. I woke up and they told me Newt was dead.”

Dr. Paige nodded, looking at Thomas thoughtfully with what could have been empathy on her face. “You got upset when you said you were the one driving. Why is that?”

Thomas sighed, looking down. “‘Cause I was the one driving. I’m the reason he’s gone - not gone, whatever. It was my fault.” his voice was small and laced with quiet shame.

“Were you told that the driver of the truck that killed Newt was convicted of driving under the influence alcohol?”

Thomas looked up.

“His blood alcohol level was at 0.2, which is two and a half times over the the legal limit.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say. A tiny gasp slipped out of him before he could pull it back in. “I didn’t know that.” he said, trying to figure out if he was relieved or just felt worse. He sat in silence, ruminating the mixture of emotion.

Dr. Paige broke the silence. “Do you still feel like it was your fault?”

Thomas swallowed. Yes. “Yeah, I guess. I still could have swerved, or something.” The end of his sentence fell apart, the words tumbling below audible level.

Dr. Paige nodded, a shred of disappointment glinting in her eyes. “Do you think Newt would blame you?”

Thomas felt a shiver down his spine. “Which Newt are we talking about?” he said.

Dr. Paige looked very confused.

“I think I’m starting to get that this Newt, the, uh, hallucination one, he’s not Newt. He’s like an anti-Newt.” Thomas explained. The idea had been floating around in his head for a few days. “I think that at the start I really believed he _was_ Newt, but he’s not. Newt is - was - the kindest person I’ve ever known. He was grumpy, irritable, sure. But he had such a big heart. He cared about everyone but himself.” Thomas sighed, nostalgia hitting him in the chest full-force. “This Newt, anti-Newt, whatever. He’s like a completely different person.”

Dr. Paige was starting to smile. “How so?”

Thomas spoke quickly. “He’s mean. He’s really, really mean. Newt gets snippy pretty easily, especially when he’s in a bad mood, but it was never like this. He tells me that I don’t care about him and that I never really loved him.”

“That must be hard to hear from someone you believe is Newt.”

“Yeah. It is.” Thomas said, voice quieting considerably. He began to pick at the skin around his nails. “It makes me sick when I see him, and I think I’m starting to hate him.” he paused, inhaling deeply.

A moment later, he looked up at Dr. Paige and swallowed Fear for the last time. “But it’s not him.”

Dr. Paige smiled and leaned back in her chair. “I’m glad you can finally see that, Thomas.”

“I want to get better. I don’t want to be like this anymore.” Thomas said, realizing the truth his words carried. He really did want to get better. Being like this was exhausting, and Thomas was tired. He was tired of running from what he knew was true, and he was tired of being afraid every single second of his life. He was tired of living in a hospital and he was tired of being away from his family and Minho. In short, he was tired of being haunted by his dead boyfriend.

After a second, Thomas laughed. “Is this considered a ‘breakthrough’?” he gave the last word some complimentary air quotes, paired with a smile.

Dr. Paige gave a short laugh. “I think it is, Thomas. I think it is.”

Thomas felt a small amount of proudness surge through him and he dared to think that Newt - the real Newt - would be proud of him, too. For the first time, the prospect of getting rid of Newt almost excited him. “What now?” he asked.

Dr. Paige took out a file folder and opened it up. “Well, we have increased your dosage of medication, so that should be taking care of the hallucinations very soon.” she leaned toward her desk, inspecting the paper more closely. “In terms of moving past it emotionally, we’re going to be focusing on moving past the accident first.”

Thomas’s lips ghosted downwards. “Newt being dead.”

Dr. Paige gave a sympathetic smile. “Yes.” she confirmed. “The process of your grieving has been taken off track because of your illness, so we’re going to get back on that track.” she shuffled the papers, straightening them out in her hands and letting them fall back in the folder. “I’d like you to say it out loud.”

Thomas blinked. “Newt is… dead?”

“Are you sure about that?” Dr. Paige asked.

Thomas leaned his chin forward, wondering now if Dr. Paige was trying to mess with him. “Yeah, he’s dead. Newt is dead.” As the words fell off Thomas’s lips a brick hit him in the chest and knocked the breath out of him. “Oh,” was all he could say.

“Saying it out loud can make it much more real.”

Thomas willed the burning behind his eyes to stop. “Yeah.” he mumbled. Newt was really and truly dead and Thomas would never see him again. “He’s dead.” he repeated, his hands restless in his lap. “God, he’s actually dead.” Thomas looked up at Dr. Paige with watery eyes.

She smiled and plucked a blue flower from the vase on her desk.

“How about that funeral?”

 

There was two hours of free time in the afternoon and Dr. Paige granted Thomas special permission to use one of the garden spaces as a makeshift graveyard. Teresa was allowed to come, and arrived with a tiny cross made out of popsicles and twine.

“I made it after lunch in art therapy.” she said, showing off the exquisite craft with a smile. Right after his session with Dr. Paige, Thomas had told Teresa the plan, of which she approved. Three hours later, the two of them were sitting on the grass and wedging the makeshift grave marker into the dirt. Alby stood a few feet away, watching them but not listening too intently.

Thomas laid the flower Dr. Paige had given him in front of Teresa’s creation. It wasn’t too impressive of a sight. The flower was small and delicate, with five identical purple-blue petals and a bright yellow center. The cross couldn’t have been more than four inches tall, and Newt’s name was written on the horizontal stick with red crayon.

It wasn’t the funeral he deserved, but it was the one he got.

Thomas picked at the grass in front of the flower and he realized that he’d never done this before. Nobody close to him had ever died before, so he never learned how to say goodbye. He chose instead to sit in silence (there was always a moment of silence, right?) and rip some more grass from the ground.

Ten minutes passed before either Thomas or Teresa spoke. Even then, the first voice to be heard wasn’t either of theirs.

 

You can’t have a funeral without the guest of honor.

 

His voice came from behind. “A forget-me-not, really, Thomas? Pretty well sure I won’t be forgetting you anytime soon after all you’ve done to me.”

Thomas inhaled sharply and Teresa took his hand, squeezing it. Thomas squeezed back and started talking. “I’m sorry that you died, Newt. I blame myself for that, but I know that you wouldn’t want me to so I’m trying to stop that.”

“Actually, in case you’ve forgotten, you are the reason I’m dead.”

“There’s another you here, and he talks to me a lot. Pretends he’s you, and says terrible things. My mind made him up after you died.” Thomas’s voice broke early on but he kept going. “I’m getting help now, though. They’re helping me here.”

“Helping you kill me. Again.”

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. “And I don’t know how I’m going to keep going without you, but I’m going to have to try.” Thomas stopped, opening his eyes and turning to look behind him with a blurry gaze.

Newt was _seething._

Thomas turned back, tears falling onto the ground. “I know that a lot of the time you didn’t want to keep going, either. But you always did.”

“Yeah, and look where that bloody got me. The one time I want to be alive you go off and agree to have me killed. That’s true love right there, isn’t it Tommy?”

A sob was pushing on Thomas’s throat, begging to rip through the eggshell skin. His voice was clogged but he resolved to keep talking. “You kept going so that’s what I’m going to do.” Thomas stopped to inhale, stuttering as his lungs filled with air. Teresa squeezed his hand again and Thomas could have sworn he heard a low growl. He stared at the popsicle stick cross. “You’re always going to be my friend.”

“As if you’ve ever been my friend.”

“And you’re always going to be the person I love. But I have to keep going without you.” he squeezed his eyes tight, willing his words to reach Newt, the real Newt, wherever he was. “So please, let me go.”

 

When Thomas opened his eyes, there was just Teresa, Alby, and relief.

 

-

 

Relief lasted about eight hours. Those hours were filled with a white daze of emotions, but mostly relief. Some hope. A little bit of sadness, but not too much. There was Teresa and there was another session with Dr. Paige, then a meeting with a grief counsellor. Then there was supper, where one of the more uncommon happier moments unearthed itself about four hours before relief burnt out.

 

By the time Thomas got to dinner, Sonya, Harriet, George, and Teresa were all waiting for him. Four pairs of eyes were all staring at him as he walked over. He set his tray down beside Teresa and was assaulted with voices from each direction.

“Now that you’re here-”

“Thomas, I-”

“Tell him!”

“Guys, shut up.” It was Teresa who spoke last, rolling her eyes as everyone fell silent. Thomas twirled spaghetti around his fork, waiting for somebody to tell him what was going on.

Harriet and Sonya looked at each other then, smiles like pure electricity. It was Harriet who spoke up. “Sonya and I are together now.” as she said it Thomas noticed their hands laced together on top of the table.

Thomas was confused. Harriet and Sonya were always - _always_ \- together, and when they weren’t they looked miserable. When Sonya spoke up in group before, she’d basically had cartoon hearts floating over her head. Looking at the two of them now, nothing had seemed to have changed. “Wait,” Thomas said, tiny squeals dying down as he spoke. “Weren’t you two already a thing?”

Everyone burst out laughing and Thomas continued to be confused. He was _sure_ that the two girls were already dating.

Sonya regained control of herself first. “Well, I guess so. But we made it official tonight.”

“It was cute.” Teresa chimed in, propping her chin up under her hands. “Since we don’t have flowers here, Harriet painted her a bouquet in art therapy.”

Thomas smiled. “That’s actually really sweet, wow.” He shook his head, unable to help feeling happy for the two of them. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Harriet smiled the word.

“It turns out we actually don’t live too far from each other.” Sonya said, taking a bite out of a stale dinner roll. “When we get out we’re going to have our first date.”

“That won’t be too long now, right?” Teresa asked. Harriet replied and Thomas tuned out a little. As happy as he was for them, it hurt. Sonya and Harriet were so similar to what Thomas and Newt had once been. Back then, there had been no worries. No car accidents, no hallucinations.

 

Time ticked on.

 

-

 

Four hours had passed since supper and Thomas was left to himself, each of his friends off at their own appointments or groups. Relief was slowly molding itself into unease, and Thomas sat alone in his room trying to untangle the knot in his stomach. He sat against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and head leaning back. His eyes were closed and he almost felt himself drifting off to an early sleep.

“Always thought you were more inclined to boys. Or to me, at least.”

Thomas’s eyes shot open. Newt was sitting on the edge of Gally’s bed, inspecting his nails. He spoke up again, eyes never leaving his fingers. “But I guess she’s your type, right? Artsy, suicidal. Kind of like me, isn’t she?”

“She’s just my friend.” Thomas said, no clue as to why he felt he needed to defend himself.

“Mmm.” Newt hummed, tilting his gaze upwards. “Not the vibe I was getting today. She seems pretty fond of that hand of yours. What’s her name again? Taylor? Tessa?”

“Teresa.”

“Teresa!” Newt shouted, as if it had just come to him. “Quite a bit of a step down from me, don’t you think?”

Thomas sat up. “Why are you doing this? Why are you like this?”

Newt’s expression soured. “Gotta be the big victim, like always, yeah? Make me feel like I did something wrong because you’re upset again.”

“You’re not Newt. Newt would never treat me like this. He’s dead, and you’re just-”

“That’s because you _killed_ me!” Newt yelled, standing up with clenched fists. “I hate you for that! I hate you! I’ve always hated you!”

Thomas opened his mouth but Newt kept going. “All you care about is yourself! You can’t go one second without feeling sorry for yourself! Admit it, this is your fault, Tommy! This is all your fault!”

“You’re not-”

“I hate you! After all the shit I went through, after all I’ve done for you, _this_ is how you repay me? You kill me, and after we get a second chance you want to do it again?” Newt was panting hard, his eyes narrowed and his bottom teeth jutting out.

He looked _livid._

“I’ve done so much for you! And now you can’t do the one and only thing I’ve ever asked you to do!”

Thomas stood up. “You’re not Newt!” he yelled, hands shaking with anger. This wasn’t Newt but something entirely different. A monster in an angel’s skin. “You’re not him!” he yelled again, taking a step forward until they were only inches away from each other.

Newt screamed and tackled Thomas to the bed, pinning him to the sheets. His breath was hot and moist on Thomas’s face. “You never loved me!” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth onto Thomas’s cheek. From underneath, Newt looked absolutely feral.

“Yes I did!” Thomas screamed back, pushing up against Newt’s iron grip on his wrists. “I loved you more than anything else! _I loved you!_ ” his throat felt like sandpaper and his eyes burned. He and Newt’s heavy breaths were in sync and they stared at each other in silence, sharing a single moment of wide-eyed rage-driven agony.

Newt spat bitterness as he spoke. “Oh, you think I care about you now? That saying a little ‘I wuv you’ can make it all better?”

 

Then, he _smiled._

 

“Oh, _please,_ Tommy. Please. “

 

With that, Thomas snapped. He completely and utterly snapped.

He started screaming, forcing Newt off of him and flipping him over, holding him down. He screamed until his throat went raw, then he screamed some more. There were some words, but none of them coherent. His fingers were curled into Newt’s shoulders, shaking him violently. His face was pressed up to Newt’s, tears and sweat flying onto his skin. Thomas knew he was having some kind of psychotic break but there was no room left in his being for him to care. Every ounce of his body was pulsing with anger as he screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

He screamed until the sound of his own voice sounded like it was underwater and he couldn’t feel his throat. He screamed until Newt was well past the point of unconsciousness and his body went limp as Thomas shook him. He screamed until his insides went numb and he was pulled away from Newt, a pair of arms under his shoulders dragging him off the bed.

  
He screamed until everything went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so s orry g2g ... ..


	11. catharsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back!! i just want to say before we start that if you've been with me and this story for this long, thank you so much. next week, everything ends and i am really sad tbh? i really truly hope that you guys are enjoying the journey so far. so, uh, yeah!! enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**“Consciousness of the bad is an essential** _

_**prerequisite to the promotion of the good.”** _

_** ― ** _ ** Khushwant Singh ** _**  
** _

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He wasn’t screaming anymore, but everything was still white. It was a sterile kind of white, one that looked as if it was completely unmarred, untouched by human hands. It was stark and it was blinding.

It was four walls and a ceiling and a floor.

It was also the word _isolation_ , for which Thomas was grateful to the very core of his being.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but he could assume what had happened. He remembered Newt coming into his room and, well, unleashing on him. Thomas couldn’t think of another word to describe what had happened. It was unlike anything Thomas had ever experienced before and he shivered as Newt’s words repeated themselves over and over again in his head. Never in his life had Thomas ever been victim to such heart-seizing abuse. It wasn’t cold in the white room, but he shivered again.

Then he remembered screaming until his throat went raw and being dragged away. It wasn’t long after he felt himself being lifted off of Newt that everything went hazy. Thinking now, Thomas realized that he had probably been injected with some kind of sedative. Another realization, perhaps one a bit more chilling, came to Thomas at that moment. He was most likely in the room at the end of the hall, the one he saw on his first day. The one with the big metal locks, the one that Thomas had deemed as the stereotypical room in every mental ward where the screaming patients went to have ‘alone time’.

Thomas had been screaming, and now he was alone.

The only mystery was how long he’d been out.

He figured that it couldn’t have been more than a day. There was no way of knowing what time it was, but he knew that it’d been just before 10:00 when everything happened. His stomach groaned just then and Thomas realized how hungry he was. There was quite obviously nothing to eat in the room, so he chewed on his thoughts instead.

There was now not a single doubt in his mind that the Newt from the night before was not his Newt. The Newt from the night before (which Thomas decided to officially dub the anti-Newt) was the creation of his mind, some kind of reflection of his feelings about the accident, probably. The anti-Newt needed to go before he ruined the idea and memory of the actual Newt. It was clear to Thomas now - he _had_ to recover. And not just for himself, but for his family and Minho. Thomas had lost track of how long he’d been away from them but he knew it was much too long. Every time he thought about them there was a dull ache in his chest and a longing in his heart. He wanted to get better for them, too. And for Newt. The real Newt, of course.

 

After mulling over his thoughts for the better half of an hour, Thomas got bored. He sighed loudly, and like magic, the door on the opposite wall slid open.

“Hello, Thomas.” It was Dr. Paige.

Thomas stood up quickly, head spinning a little bit. He put a hand against the wall. “Hey.”

Dr. Paige stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

Thomas took a moment arranging his words. He handed them to Dr. Paige with a tiny smile filled with hope. “Like I want to get better.”

Dr. Paige radiated proudness. She took a seat on the ground directly across from Thomas, crossing her legs. “Why don’t you tell me what happened last night?”

 

So Thomas did. He told her about the anti-Newt at the funeral, then when in Thomas’s room. He told her every word the anti-Newt said to him - he remembered them all, of course. He told her about the screaming and the shaking, and then about the white haziness. He told her about the real Newt, too, about how they met (through Minho, bless his soul) and how they first started dating (after Thomas found out he had asthma) and how he almost lost Newt once before (last spring with a jump) and how Newt had become Thomas’s sun and moon (he really, really had). He told her about how he knew now that the anti-Newt wasn’t the same as the real Newt and how he wanted to be able to let go of both of them.

It felt like Thomas talked for hours, his voice quiet and cracked but content all the same. When he was done his stomach punctuated his conclusion with a triumphant growl.

Dr. Paige smiled once more. “How about we get you some lunch?”

 

-

 

It turned out that Thomas had woken up around noon and talked with Dr. Paige until three. After a satisfyingly huge helping of room temperature pizza, Thomas was free to have some down time. He missed half of afternoon group already, but Dr. Paige had excused him from the rest. The common room was strangely empty with all the others at their own groups or appointments. Thomas wandered toward the art room, hoping he would find Teresa there or on his way.

Walking down the hall he passed only a few other patients and a handful of nurses. Eventually he found the art room and pushed the door open.

Five heads turned towards him, four immediately going back to their work.

The fifth one smiled. “Tom!” Teresa set down her paintbrush and spun in her chair, standing to wrap Thomas in a hug, only hesitant for a fraction of a second. Thomas couldn’t remembered the last time someone had hugged him. “Where were you this morning?” she asked once they’d pulled apart.

Thomas exhaled a one-syllable laugh. “Did you, uh, hear any screaming last night?”

Teresa’s smile dropped a little. “Yeah, actually, I think they took somebody to isolation. Sounded pretty bad, too. Do you know who it was?”

Thomas closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “Yeah.” The word ripped at the edges of his throat. Teresa leaned her head forward, waiting for an answer. Thomas raised his eyebrows. A second later, she got it.

“Oh.” she said, a hand flying up to her mouth. “Oh my god, Tom.” her eyes were almost vibrating in their sockets, studying Thomas’s face - the deep nearly-purple half moons circling under his eyes, the lack of colour in his skin and his bloodshot eyes. Thomas could barely hear her next sentence, muffled from behind her hand. “Are you alright?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Thomas said, trying to ignore the fear he saw in Teresa’s eyes.

She slowly lowered her hand, blinking. “What happened?”

Thomas grabbed an empty stool and sat down. Teresa looked at him, seeming to have regained composure. “Well,” Thomas started, “It was Newt.” Teresa nodded, sadness showing in the softness of her features. Thomas continued, deciding that he didn’t need to scare Teresa with all the details. “I was in my room last night and he showed up, and he started saying mean stuff, like he usually has in the past while. Except it wasn’t like usual. It was so much worse, and I guess what he said really got to me, ‘cause I just started, uh, screaming. At him, I mean. And then I think they sedated me, probably, and then I woke up in a really white room.” By the end of his recounting, Thomas was staring at his lap.

After three seconds Teresa was still silent and Thomas dared to look up. Teresa’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, eyes barely glassy. Thomas backpedaled. “It’s okay though.” he said quickly, putting his hands out. “It made me really realize that that’s not Newt - anti-Newt, actually - and now I know that I need to get better and move on and everything so I’m going to do that.” Thomas exhaled. Every time he said it, it felt a little more real. A little more possible.

Teresa’s face melted into a smile that grew with every second. “That’s- that’s great, Tom.” she said.

Thomas’s cheeks blushed light pink and he looked down. He felt proud of himself, too. Recovery felt _good_. “So,” he said after a moment, Teresa still smiling, “what did I miss?”

 

News had apparently travelled fast. After the previous night’s events (which, apparently, everyone could hear) paired with Thomas’s absence from breakfast, morning group, lunch, and afternoon group, people started to talk. By the time Thomas had found Teresa, it was pretty much assumed that it was Thomas who’d been the offending screamer. They weren’t _wrong_ , but Thomas was surprised and confused as to how the majority of the ward knew his name. Nonetheless, Thomas was now the talk of the ward, victim of curious eyes that shot down as soon as he met their gaze.

It was annoying, really, but it was bearable. As long as they didn’t belong to a particular boy with a limp and an accent, Thomas was fine with it.

 

-

 

The next morning brought joy to Thomas’s life again.

Dr. Paige greeted him with a smile larger and warmer than usual. “I have some good news, Thomas.”

Thomas waited with hope in his throat.

“Your family is here.”

Hope lept and so did Thomas, out of his chair.

 

It was Alby who led him to the visiting room, his demeanor almost a complete reversal from their first meeting. He looked much more relaxed and much less annoyed, something resembling a smile lingering on his lips. His strides were long but leisurely and Thomas found himself wishing the man would walk faster. His fingers twitched and his legs itched to go faster, to run, to just go. But he didn’t; he knew the chances of seeing his family would most likely  evaporate into the air if he started sprinting down the hall.

So, he controlled himself.

After an _eternity_ (four minutes, approximately) of walking through the maze of white hallways, Alby stopped at a set of doors.

“Whoever’s comin’ to see ya will be in here. Sit down, have a coffee, talk it up, whatever. They say to limit the physical contact,” Alby stopped, leaning toward Thomas, “but that’s a load of crap, the guards don’t really care.” he smirked and Thomas felt electricity buzzing through his entire body. Alby continued. “After you’re done they’re gonna search you, make sure your visitors didn’t give you any contraband. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Alby swiped his card in the slot and the doors clicked. He pushed them open and Thomas did everything in his power not to shove Alby out of the way.

There was the sound of chairs scraping on the floor and Thomas peeked his head through the open doorway.

“Thomas!” It was Chuck, God, it was Chuck, and his parents, and Minho. They were all right there, standing in place but seeming to float, to gravitate toward him, everyone swaying as their feet froze in place. All eyes were glassy and all lips were turned up into brilliant, disbelieving smiles.

Chuck was the first to break away from the thawing hesitation, almost running across the room to fling his entire body at and around Thomas’s.

Thomas almost started bawling right then and there. “Chuck, hey.” he breathed the words into the top of Chuck’s head, burying his face in the curls.

Though Thomas couldn’t make it out, Chuck was saying something into the grey material of his shirt. He couldn’t understand one word of it, but he didn’t have to, really.

“I missed you too, buddy.” Thomas said, holding Chuck tighter.

Probably a minute later they broke away and Thomas’s parents came towards him, arms open wide. They hugged him together and Thomas inhaled deeply, something he hadn’t smelled in a long time.

Home.

Minho was next. He hung back, evidently letting Thomas’s family see him first (But then again, Thomas did consider Minho family). As soon as the two adults released Thomas, Minho crossed the gap between the two of them in three long strides, no hesitation as he wrapped his arms around Thomas.

Broken sentences stumbled out of Minho’s mouth, shattering as they hit Thomas’s shoulder. The only one not fragmented was a muffled “Thomas-”

“I know.” Thomas said, and he did know, he knew exactly what Minho was trying to say. “Me too.”

 

After a small collection of minutes, Thomas, Minho, Chuck, and his parents were all seated at one of the tables in the visiting area. Thomas told them all about the ward, mostly talking about his new friends (especially Teresa, who, apparently, Minho knew from his geography class) and his progress. He treaded lightly over the topic of his hallucinations (that word felt strange and heavy in his mouth, but it was slowly getting more comfortable) and especially what had happened two nights prior. He didn’t know how much Chuck knew about what was going on with him, and the last thing Thomas wanted to do was to terrify his little brother. Still, they all listened intently and asked questions every few minutes, including but not limited to: Was his name really Ratman? (No, but he looked like a rat), Does everyone have to wear those _super hot_ scrubs? (Yes, unfortunately), Have we met Teresa before? (No, I met her here, but she goes to my school), and of course, the unavoidable Are there any crazy people? (No, everyone is really nice and everyone is dealing with a lot of stuff, just like me). By the end of the question and answer session, Thomas had had to get up and refill his paper cup of water twice. His throat was still raw and his voice hoarse.

Close to half an hour passed and Thomas’s parents not-so-subtly went to go grab some coffee and a snack, taking Chuck with them as they muttered something about catching up on the school’s gossip. Thomas gave them a puzzled look but felt a tiny bit of relief to have some time alone with Minho.

“So, how’re things back at the Glade?” he asked, crossing his arms onto the table.

Minho’s lips curled into that familiar smirk that Thomas didn’t realize he missed. Minho leaned back, not saying anything.

“Dude, come on.” Thomas pleaded, nearing desperation. Though he hadn’t thought about it much during his stay, it really bothered him in that moment that he was completely and utterly out of the loop.

Minho laced his fingers together behind his head. “I have a girlfriend.” he said simply.

Thomas almost gasped. “No way.”

“I do.”

“That’s shit.”

“You think I’m incapable of getting a girlfriend or something?”

“I think you’re incapable of being interested in anyone that’s not Brenda, and I also think - no, I know - I know that you’re incapable of getting _her_ to be your girlfriend.”

Minho dropped his jaw, putting a hand to his chest. “I’m hurt, Thomas.”

“You know it’s true.”

“Except for it’s not true, not this time.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. He wanted _real_ news, not just Minho’s two year old fantasies. “So, you’re telling me that you, Minho Park, in some way convinced Brenda Despain that she should be your girlfriend. And she bought it, and now you’re just? Dating?”

Minho’s eyebrows dropped low. “You know what, here.” he said, shoving his hand in the pocket of his jeans and pulling out his phone. “I’ll prove it.” His fingers flew furiously across the screen and after a second of concentration he flipped the screen to show Thomas. “There.”

Thomas blinked, not able to believe what his eyes were seeing. There were two people in the picture - Brenda one of them, for sure. She was smiling wide, eyes nearly closed as if she was laughing when the picture was taken. Attached to her cheek was a pair of lips belonging to none other than Minho himself. Thomas felt his lips pulling up into a grin and he took the phone, looking more closely at the picture. It was definitely Minho and Brenda, and they definitely looked like a couple.

Thomas was almost in awe. “Wow.” was all he could say.

Minho nodded, taking the phone and sliding it back into his pocket. His happiness crinkled around his eyes. “She started laughing ‘cause I told her you wouldn’t believe me and we had to make proof.”

“Holy shit.” Thomas said, shaking his head. “Congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks.” Minho said, grinning again.

“How the hell did that happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Minho said, “but basically, I punched a locker and she fell for my manliness, at last.”

Thomas snorted, knowing that was probably nowhere near what had happened. “Why’d you punch a locker?”

“I was angry.”

Thomas nodded thoughtfully, wondering if he’d ever get the full version. “What else did I miss?” he asked, now wondering if anything else monumental had transpired in his absence. He was pretty sure it was past the week of exams, at least.

“Well, exams,” Minho said, reading Thomas’s mind. “so fuck you, ‘cause the teachers probably won’t make you take ‘em when you’re back.”

Thomas smirked triumphantly. Dr. Paige had assured him that last week. Thomas opened his mouth to speak and two things happened simultaneously.

The first thing that happened was the intercom system crackling on, a nasally voice announcing that visiting hours were over in three minutes and all patients were to go to the cafeteria for lunch, unless granted special permission beforehand. Thomas felt his heart sink.

The second thing that happened was his parents and Chuck walking back into the room, eyes locking with Thomas as their faces drooped into expected sadness.

Minho stood then, hugging Thomas again. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” The sentence was presented less of a question than a statement but Thomas still nodded.

They broke away and Thomas’s parents said goodbye next. “We talked to your doctor on the phone, she said that you won’t have to stay here much longer, Thomas.” Tears shined in his mother’s eyes and she hugged him.

His dad looked like he was on the verge of crying but he held his composure, pulling Thomas in tight. “We’re proud of you.” he mumbled into Thomas’s hair.

Then it was Chuck’s turn, a tiny tear already rolling down the boy’s cheek. Thomas crouched down lower this time, putting his hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Chuck nodded and Thomas hugged him, really believing that it was true.

 

-

 

After his family left, Thomas and a few other patients were escorted to the cafeteria for lunch. The walk there was quiet, each person silently contemplating the absence they felt inside them now. It was like a gaping hole in Thomas’s chest, one he didn’t know was there until it was filled up then emptied again. It only made Thomas want to get better that much more, so he could fill the gap for good.

 

Lunch passed without any notable events, and afterwards came group, which was uneventful as well. Late in the afternoon, during free time, Teresa had no small announcement to make, which she blurted to Thomas on their usual white couch.

“I’m leaving in three days.”

Thomas looked up from the loose thread he’d been playing with. “Teresa, that’s incredible.” he smiled, pushing back the wisp of sadness he felt. This was a good thing.

Teresa’s smile hung crookedly, something pushing one edge up higher than the other. “I’m nervous.” she said.

Thomas put a hand on her knee, hoping it would do something to help calm her, even a bit. “You get to go home. That’s a good thing.”

She sighed, “I know, I just-” she paused, looking down. “I’m scared. I feel better, like, really better.”

Thomas blinked. That was good, right?

“I guess I’m afraid of it all falling apart as soon as I get back.” she continued, crossing her legs up onto the couch. “I don’t want it to. I want to stay better.”

“I think you will.” Thomas decided, really hoping it was true. “You’re different now, things will be different.” he said.

Teresa nodded, biting her lip. “You better be right behind me, Tom.”

 

-

 

Their last few days together were bittersweet. The news was broken to Sonya, Harriet, and George that night at dinner and was met with the same shocked happiness as when Thomas had found out. However Thomas suspected they all were a little dejected inside, guilt filling them as they realized they didn’t want her to leave. The news was still overall positive, everyone feeling genuine happiness for Teresa along with their own melancholy as they wondered when _they_ would get to go home.

Thomas and Teresa spent the three days almost glued to each other (as if they weren’t already glued to each other all the time) and the third night came much too soon for either of them. It was free time after dinner, and Teresa’s dad was supposed to be arriving in ten minutes.

They met in the hallway outside the art room, Teresa slipping through the door with something hidden behind her back. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Teresa snaked the object from behind her back and held it in front, looking down at it. It was a canvas, painted side facing Teresa. She took a breath. “Before I left I wanted to give you something.”

Thomas waited with a warming heart and she turned the canvas around, holding it out for Thomas to see.

Beautiful was the only word that came close to describing the painting _._ Thomas blinked, at a loss for words. Every brushstroke was visible, a soup of colours combining to create a scene that Thomas recognized instantly. It was Minho’s basement, the worn green loveseat acting as the centerpiece. Sitting on top was Thomas himself, along with Newt, their fingers intertwined. They were looking at each other, Newt’s smile reaching his eyes and Thomas’s full of adoration. He remembered the exact moment, one he had cherished for almost a year. Minho had snapped the picture before either Newt or Thomas knew what was happening.

Thomas exhaled. “Teresa, this is-” he stopped, knowing that there were no words that could possibly do justice to what he was seeing. Any description would be too little, too simple.

Teresa beamed. “Ava got Minho to send it to her so I could paint it for you. He said that picture had to be the one.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say again. He just stared at the painting, fingers brushing over the lines of Newt. Teresa had captured him perfectly, every single detail inexplicably Newt. It was breathtaking.

“I wanted to make sure you had something to remind you of him, a memory that’s not anti-Newt, ‘cause that’s not him.” she said bashfully, looking at her feet.

Thomas looked up from the painting for the first time, tearing his eyes away and letting them land on his friend. “Thank you.” he said almost breathlessly, more memories of the moment returning to him - The joke Newt was laughing at, the pizza place they’d gotten their supper from that night. It was last Summer, almost two months after Thomas and Newt’s first anniversary. It was exactly five months after Newt’s jump, and the first time Thomas had seen him truly smile in a very long time.

 

A door opened and Alby was there, looking at Thomas and Teresa with a small smile. It was time to go.

Thomas could have sworn he saw Teresa’s heart beating inside of her throat.

He set the canvas down carefully, and wrapped Teresa into a tight hug. No string of words he could say could properly express his gratitude towards her - not just for the painting, but for everything she’d done - so he settled on a simple “I’ll see you soon.”

Teresa breathed into the hug. “You better.” It was a threat filled with the reassurance that their friendship would extend much farther than the walls of W.I.C.K.E.D.

She pulled away and walked toward Alby, granting Thomas one last glance over her shoulder before she turned the corner, on her way home.

 

Later that night Thomas sat in his bed, thinking about what Teresa had told him. Not with words, but she had told him all the same. Their friendship would last. Thomas knew.

It would, of course it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teresa!!!!!! oh man. one chapter left, i am getting nervous. i really hope you guys will like the ending, i think it wraps up the story nicely. god.  
> comments, feedback, always appreciated. love you guys, until next saturday my friends


	12. a burn scar in the perfect shape of the sooner state

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last. chapter. i can't believe we've come this far. thank you guys for coming on this insane journey with me, and as always, enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**"I have hated the words** _ _**and I have loved them,** _

_**and I hope I have made them right."** _

** — Markus Zusak  **

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With Teresa discharged and both Newt and anti-Newt (almost) gone, Thomas didn’t have a lot left to entertain himself with. There was still Sonya and Harriet, and George, but their schedules never matched up quite right. Gally was discharged the day after Teresa and the white couch in the common room just wasn’t the same all alone.

He’d tried his hand at painting, thinking he could paint something for Teresa to give to her once he got out. That, in simplest terms, was a disaster. An entire can of blue paint was toppled over, courtesy of Thomas’s elbow. Glares were given, sighs were huffed, and grey linen was turned cobalt.

Needless to say, Thomas was not welcome in the art room after that particular incident.

Instead, he’d taken to wandering around, thinking about what it would be like back home. Things would be different, for sure. Teresa was now a factor in Thomas’s life, one he was happy to have. Thomas was pretty sure they would have no trouble fitting into each other’s lives. Then there was Brenda - Thomas still couldn’t wrap his head around that. Brenda and Minho. Minho and Brenda. Fucking unbelievable, really. For years Minho had _pined_ over her, unfailingly persistent in his attempts to ask her out. He was never met with more than a laugh and a no. Maybe he was granted a bit of sarcastic banter, if he was lucky. That came more recently, Thomas had noticed. Minho never showed how disappointed he was with each rejection, but Thomas knew just how crushed his friend was. He acted like it didn’t matter, like she didn’t matter, but she did. She meant everything to him, and getting blown off twice a week had really put a dent in Minho’s armor.

But now everything would be different. Thomas had had a lot of time to think about it, and it was still strange to think about it.

If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was this: his life would never return to the way it was before.

That, obviously, meant no Newt. No anti-Newt either, but no Newt. That was something Thomas was still in the process of processing. But he was getting there. The absence (or, almost absence) of the anti-Newt helped a lot, but part of Thomas almost believed he’d be able to see Newt once he got home, as if he was just on an extended vacation. Which was overwhelmingly untrue. Thomas caught himself in these moments for the most part, stopping and telling himself that Newt was in fact dead and wouldn’t be free to hang out once he got home. Walking through the halls whispering ‘he’s dead’ at least once a day really didn’t help Thomas’s friend situation, but he didn’t really care. He knew he’d be out soon.

 

-

 

Five days after Teresa left, Dr. Paige had a new task for Thomas. She’d been giving him some simple things to do in the past week to help with the grieving process, like writing about his memories with Newt, the accident, and how he felt after. Thomas’s hand often ached after each session, but he was realizing that Dr. Paige was right - his entire acceptance of Newt’s death had been seriously delayed because of his illness, and even months after the fact he still had to properly work through all the stages of grief.

The newest writing project came at the end of the session, and caught Thomas’s interest immediately.

“I want you to write a letter to Newt.”

Thomas quirked an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Dr. Paige folded her hands on the desk. “Which one would you like to write to?”

“Real Newt.” he didn’t miss a beat.

Dr. Paige didn’t have to say more. Thomas knew what he had to do.

 

He didn’t know, however, what he wanted to write. He had the thoughts, the ideas, the main points that he wanted to get down. He just couldn’t find the words to say any of it. The paper was like a snowed in cabin, only a flimsy wooden door (in this case, hand - not wooden, but flesh) blocking the avalanche of snow ready to cave in.

It was really fucking annoying.

Thomas wouldn’t say he slaved over the letter, but it sure was something akin to that level of effort. He spent days crafting the words, writing and rewriting. The paper probably had more words scratched out than visible ones, but it was getting there. Slowly.

After three days, Thomas was pretty certain that he had it. But there was one problem.

He couldn’t read it.

Among the mess of crossed out lines and tiny squashed words added in, coupled with the fact that Thomas’s handwriting was generally atrocious, the letter was nowhere near legible. Dr. Paige agreed as she squinted at the paper that afternoon. A suggestion was made.

So, Thomas spent the better part of an hour after his session carefully rewriting each and every word onto a new page. When he’s done his hand is screaming for relief, fingers permanently curved around the shape of a pencil. He lets it drop to the desk and leans back, immediately aware of a new presence standing over him.

Newt.

Thomas knew it right away, that it was really him. No hallucination, no ghost, no tricks. Just Newt. He knew it from the way his eyes softened at the sight of Thomas, how his lips curved upwards ever so slightly. How he just barely bounced on his heels, leaning forwards. It was Newt, and it was like pure sunshine.

Thomas couldn’t move. He stared up at Newt, whose eyes flicked downwards, at the letter. Thomas braced himself, expecting the onslaught of verbal abuse he knew was coming.

When Newt looked up, it was almost like he was glowing. Literally. One could argue he was also glowing in the metaphorical sense, but he was actually, literally glowing. His skin seemed to radiate light, a soft halo of yellow almost fading into existence around him. He pressed a hand to the paper and looked right at Thomas with big, wet tears pooling in his eyes.

His mouth formed two silent words. _Thank you._

And then he dissipated into the air and out of Thomas’s life.

 

-

 

Surprise fell like a silent shockwave from Thomas’s gaping mouth, choking any words that made their way up his throat. Questions shot themselves off the walls of his skull, dying before they flew out his mouth. He sat in stunned silence for what seemed like ages, and by the time he was sitting in the chair in Dr. Paige’s office, he still couldn’t formulate a single coherent thought.

“It was him.”

Dr. Paige leaned forward. “Anti-Newt?”

“No,” Thomas said, “Newt. Actual Newt.”

“Actual Newt?”

“Yeah, it was him, I’m sure it was.”

“And after he said thank you, he just - disappeared?”

“Yeah.” Thomas said breathlessly. “He just - he faded away, and that was it.”

“That’s quite interesting. It may be a good sign.” Dr. Paige said.

Thomas nodded in agreement. “I think so. I don’t know how much of this crap I believe in, but it almost seemed like - like it was his spirit or something, and it was saying goodbye after I wrote the letter. Like it was leaving for good.”

Dr. Paige considered this. “That could be the case, maybe.”

“You’re a doctor, do you really believe in all that stuff?” Thomas asked, skepticism clear in his voice.

“I am a doctor, yes. Your hallucinations of Newt were a symptom of psychosis caused by severe PTSD, and that’s a fact.” she explained, looking at Thomas. “But I also know that the universe sometimes works in very strange ways, ways that science can’t quite explain.”

Dr. Paige fell silent and she and Thomas sat for a moment, taking it in.

Thomas was pretty sure they were both on the same page: good things were coming.

 

-

 

Apparently, the universe was on the same page as Thomas and Dr. Paige. Three days later, Thomas had not seen the anti-Newt once. That was, notably, the longest time Thomas had gone without seeing Newt’s likeness in almost five years. That was almost - _almost_ \- bittersweet, but Thomas decided to ignore the bitter. It was for the better.

That small accomplishment was celebrated with a tiny party consisting of Thomas, Sonya, Harriet, George, a purple crayon acting as a stand-in for Teresa, and four lukewarm bowls of the standard W.I.C.K.E.D. ice cream. It was by no means a royal ball, but Thomas still thought it was a little bit perfect.

 

Five nights after Newt’s last visit, the universe was on Thomas’s side.

“You’ll be going home in four days, Thomas.”

Those eight words were like a finger flicking the switch that controlled Thomas’s emotions. Happiness came first, spreading over him like a blanket. Then came melancholy, then confusion. Relief settled itself onto Thomas’s shoulder, wavering slightly as Fear crept by. It was overwhelming, to say the least. An _oh my god_ escaped Thomas’s lips and with perhaps the giddiest of realizations he’d ever experienced, Thomas decided to pluck Fear from his chest and kick melancholy to the curb.

He was going home.

Holy shit, he was actually _going home._

 

Thomas actually hugged Dr. Paige after that, and they both ignored the tears on his face.

 

-

 

The routine was so much harder to sit through when Thomas knew he wouldn’t have to in four days. Four long days, longer than he’d ever lived in his entire life. Breakfast was restless and morning group dragged. Lunch and free time were boring, seconds ticking by with agonizing lethargy. Sessions with Dr. Paige were almost redundant, though they did contain some important information about Thomas’s outpatient treatment plan that may or may not have gone over his head. Dinner was never that interesting either, and all the activities that came after it were unimportant. Sleep was the only relief, Thomas knowing that each time he closed his eyes, he would be that much closer to seeing his family again. To getting his life back again.

When it was finally time to leave, Thomas did feel a small amount of sadness. He was leaving his friends, but he knew they wouldn’t be too far behind him. Dr. Paige was another person he had to leave behind, for now at least. Thomas even said goodbye to Alby. He hadn’t known until the day he was leaving, but Thomas had a lot of good relationships with the people at W.I.C.K.E.D. He’d grown so used to seeing them every single day.

But nothing could outshine the intense excitement he felt to be going home.

It built up over the four days, slowly cultivating inside of him. Once the initial queasiness at the aspect of leaving left him, the only thing Thomas could feel was the thrilling elation. And man, was it a thrill to finally feel elated again.

 

-

 

When the day came, it was his mom that picked him up. The entire two and a half hours home were spent with smiles plastered onto both faces. They talked about nothing and everything all at once, the space between them never without words. At one point his mom mentioned that there may be some visitors once they got home. Though he never thought the day would come, Thomas was grateful to be wearing jeans once again.

The drive home went by much faster than Thomas thought it would, and before he knew it they were in his neighborhood, rolling by everything he hadn’t seen in weeks - his school, Minho’s house - god, even the grocery store was a welcome sight. Three minutes past Minho’s, Thomas’s mom was pulling into the driveway. The front door flung open before Thomas could even undo his seatbelt.

“Thomas!” It was Chuck, of course. Thomas had one leg out the door and Chuck was right there, practically bouncing on the spot.

“Hey, Chuck.” Thomas said, wrapping his brother into a hug and promptly getting all of the oxygen squeezed right out of his lungs.

Once Chuck released his constrictor grip on Thomas, he started pulling his older brother towards the house. “Come on!”

Thomas complied, noticing a few more bodies standing just inside the house. Four, to be exact. First he noticed Teresa - no, that was a lie. First he noticed Teresa’s clothes, shockingly not a pair of grey scrubs. Then he noticed her smile, lighting up her entire face. Thomas’s own face couldn’t help brightening at the sight. She looked better. A lot better. She stepped toward him with a murmured _Tom_ and a tight hug, and Thomas almost laughed. She didn’t smell like hospital anymore.

After Teresa there was Minho, who, to Thomas’s ongoing surprise, had Brenda’s hand clasped in his. “Welcome back, you ugly shank.” he muttered the words into Thomas’s shoulder, letting go of Brenda to hug Thomas. When he pulled back his eyes were glistening ever so slightly.

Brenda smiled. “Hey, Thomas.”

“Brenda.” Thomas nodded, looking down at the pixie of a girl. Maybe it was just because she was next to Minho, but she was so much shorter than Thomas seemed to remember. But her presence was almost ten feet tall.

She held out a hand and Thomas shook it. He knew they would get along just fine.

There was a quick hug from his dad, then his mom shuffled through into the house.

“There’s lunch for everyone.” she said, and with that everyone made their way toward the kitchen.

Laughs were shared, tears were shed. Some damn good sandwiches were eaten (how Thomas had missed his mother’s cooking) and the feeling of exhilaration Thomas had felt since he found out he was going home didn’t leave him once in that entire night.

It was good to be back.

 

The next morning, Thomas knew what he had to do. Well, that may be an exaggeration. He knew what he wanted to do, but he was almost sure it was something he needed to do too. He’d been thinking about it for a while, the idea popping into his head sometime during one of his sessions with Dr. Paige. It was a good idea, something Dr. Paige would probably be proud of if Thomas had told her. Or maybe not. He never did tell her, though, so it didn’t really matter what she would think of it.

He was ready. He had everything he needed, folded up neatly in the back pocket of his jeans. Thomas sat in his room, psyching himself up to it. The more he thought about it, the more he knew it needed to happen.

He almost got out the door undetected when his mother came down the stairs.

She eyed his shoes. “Going to see Minho?” she asked.

Thomas considered lying, then remembered how that had ended last time. “Uh, no.” he said, one hand automatically going to the envelope in his back pocket. “I’m going to see Newt.” his mom’s face paled for a split second and Thomas rushed to explain. “No, god, I mean his grave. I’m going to see Newt’s grave.” he explained, hoping his mom wouldn’t think he wanted to immediately relapse. After all he’d been through, that was something Thomas finally wasn’t interested in.

“Oh.” his mom said, terror seeming to dissolve as she exhaled. “Okay. Do you want us to come with you?”

Thomas shook his head. “No, I think I have to do this alone.”

She smiled and nodded. She understood. After a second of silence she spoke. “You can take the car, if you want. It’s the cemetery off of Manotick.”

He swallowed. “I think I’ll walk.”

“Thomas.”

“I will drive, I promise. Just not today.” There was a lump growing in his throat.

After an eternity, his mom sighed. “Alright.” she said, and Thomas was out the door.

 

A brisk thirteen minute walk later, Thomas stopped. He was met with a set of tall iron gates, a beautifully crafted lacework of rust. They towered above him.

Thomas slipped through the gates.

Walking along the rows, Thomas’s eyes studied each headstone. Some had flowers in front of them - beautiful bouquets, single roses, even one with just a few uprooted dandelions - and some had nothing at all. Some had picture frames with smiling faces that were much too young to belong among the dead.

 _Newt was too young,_ Thomas thought.

He walked on anyway, knowing that a lot of people were taken too young, and it wasn’t his fault.

Thomas had a vague idea of where he was going (past the first break of trees, closer to the far side, a few rows in) but he didn’t head that way. He ambled, taking his time. The grounds were old, but they were nice. The cemetery had a certain peaceful quality to it and Thomas couldn’t help but think that Newt would have loved it.

 

Eventually, Thomas had to do what he came to do. Almost an hour had passed already. He stood from the bench he’d previously claimed (a loose term; no one else was even there) and started toward the far side. It was almost like he was being pulled toward the grave, some kind of energy bringing Thomas to exactly the right headstone.

It looked like any other stone, except for one small detail.

 

**Isaac Newton**

**1998-2015**

 

No quote or phrase underneath - Newt would’ve hated that. Would’ve thought it was cheesy, even though he loved cheese. But that’s beside the point.

It was Newt’s headstone, sitting in front of the rectangle of land Thomas was standing on, which was also the same rectangle of land that encased Newt’s rotting corpse.

Thomas didn’t so much as sit as crumple to the ground.

His hands ran over the thick stone, cool and smooth under his palms. He ran his fingers into the depressions of the letters, engraved into the surface. It was real.

This was really, really real.

After several minutes, he did it.

Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded envelope, opening it up and smoothing the creases out of the paper inside.

He took a breath, pulling the heavy summer air into his lungs.

Then with the creased sheet fluttering in his hands, he began to read out loud.

  
  


_Newt,_

_I miss you._

_A lot has happened since you died. Minho and Brenda are dating now. No, I’m not taking the piss (as you would say, I’m sure). He finally did it. And it’s kind of funny, actually, it was kinda because of you. So, nice job. They’re happy together. Minho misses you too, though. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell. We ordered pizza the other day and he was calling in. We got meat lover’s with olives, like we always do. When he asked the guy to make sure there were lots of olives, he got this look on his face. It kind of fell, like a vase shattering in slow motion or something. Minho doesn’t even like olives, but he always makes sure we have them for you. He got kind of quiet after that. He ate all the olives._

_I’m kind of friends with Teresa now, too. I don’t know if you know who she is - I didn’t - but she’s pretty awesome. I think you would have liked her a lot. She’s like you in a lot of ways. We’re at the same psychiatric ward. That’s been an experience. It’s really not as scary as you would think. I know you used to be afraid of getting put in one, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s helping me a lot, actually. I’m learning. I’m learning how to let go of you. For a long time, I thought that I couldn’t._

_It was so sudden, so fast when you died. We were singing and then we weren’t and I woke up and they told me you were dead.  I’m sorry for that, god, I am. Everyone keeps telling me that it’s not my fault and I think I might be starting to believe them. I feel ashamed just writing that down, like I’m just writing off your death as some technicality. It’s not, though. A technicality is some off detail, an almost insignificance. When you died my entire world fell apart, the foundation of everything I knew pulled out from underneath my feet. And I fell._

_I couldn’t breathe, for a long time. There was a cinderblock on my chest and I think it’s name was guilt. But then you - not you, I guess - showed up and lifted that up. You were there. I was scared out of my mind, but you were fucking there. It’s hard to remember, that month before the hospital. Everything is blurry now, but I remember you. I remember the pit in my stomach melting at the sight of you. But then things got so messy, and so scary, and you got so mean. You were the farthest thing from you I’ve ever seen and I think that’s when the cinderblock dropped and the dust cleared off and a new name was carved in the stone._

_I hated you. I hated you for dying, hated you for still being there afterwards. Hated you for being with me so much. I hated you for everything you became, for everything I know you’re not. You were a monster. I know it wasn’t you, but it was. It was the most damaging thing, to hear you screaming at me like that. And I believed you. The things you said, I still remember every word of it. I know now that it wasn’t true, but it haunts me like a nightmare you can’t seem to stop._

_I think the hardest thing was realizing that it wasn’t you. I mean, it was you, but it wasn’t really you. Because you’re dead. You died on April 17th, and your body was underground three days later. It was my own brain that made up those words, made up you. I know that. It’s hard to separate you and not you - anti-you. I think of you and the knot that forms in my stomach makes me feel so ashamed. The fear and the panic that come when your name is spoken makes my throat burn with acid. I have to make myself remember the better times. The real you. The Newt whose head fit perfectly on my shoulder, the one who helped me with math. The Newt who liked to pick grass and put it on my ankles just for the sake of it. The Newt that I loved and will always love, the Newt whose place in my heart is nothing but a rotting chasm of grief and guilt._

_But I’m healing. However slowly, I’m getting better. I know that’s what I wanted for you when you were here and I know that’s what you would want for me if you were still here._

_I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m letting go. I’m letting go of the guilt, the Fear. I’m letting go of the you I’ve grown to hate and I’m holding onto the memory of the you I’ll always love._

_Thank you for being there when I needed you._

_Thank you for loving me even when you hated yourself._

_Thank you for holding me together._

_Thank you for being the best five years of my life._

_And thank you for letting me go._

__  
  
  


_Your Tommy_

 

 

It took a long time, but eventually Thomas looked up from the tearstained page to the stone in front of him. A breeze rippled through the air and Thomas let his head fall back, exhaling into the sky.

 

Newt wasn’t there.

 

And that was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. it’s over. i can’t really believe it, but nonetheless i really hope you guys enjoyed this, thank you for all the support throughout this entire process, the love ive been receiving is so overwhelming and i am forever grateful for you guys. this is for you.
> 
> there are also some people i’d like to thank for unfailingly supporting me throughout this entire thing, keeping me motivated every single week and reminding me why i love to write. in no particular order, i want to extend my eternal gratitude and love to [mari](http://badboygally.tumblr.com), [lyca](http://newtmos.tumblr.com), [liz,](http://newtsgrin.tumblr.com) [enna](http://flarecured.tumblr.com), [jacqueline](http://wyvernewt.tumblr.com), [isaac,](http://isaacoftheinternet.tumblr.com) [gabriele](http://archiveofourown.org/users/riddlesinthedark11), and [kc.](http://spayceekaysee.tumblr.com) you guys really made everything worth it for me and i love you all more than you could ever know.
> 
> with all the mushy stuff out of the way, i do want to clarify one thing , just in case. a lot of you may be wondering - _**what happened to newt?** _ here’s the deal. what happened to newt is what you believe happened to newt. i wanted to make this story as relatable and resonant as possible and i think that in fiction it’s important for people to be able to interpret the story and make it their own. so, things were left a little more open than some people may have liked. the main thing is that i want people to be able to interpret the story how they like, but-
> 
> i do know how it happened in my head as i was writing the story. i did have a definite plan and arc and explanation for newt, one i fully intend on sharing with you guys. look out for something called  _ **“somewhere between”**_ which i will be posting on here very soon fully going through my interpretation of newt in this fic. 
> 
> so. yeah. holy shit. thank you all so much for staying with me and this story for this long. until next fic, my friends.


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